Falling After You
by little majesty
Summary: Sometimes, falling can be simple. It's realising that you have that takes time.
1. Prologue

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to J.K.R.

I've woken up with a stomachache. I spend the next half hour wondering what I've done the previous night.

I can't. This is, suffice to say, not an abnormal occurrence.

I get up from my bed, the stiff sheets chaff my skin. There's something about that that smudges the bit of good feeling that I had left over. Reality sucks, or so I'm told.

Leaving my nest of dried sweat and forgotten yesterdays, my feet mechanically make their way to the kitchen.

No, wait. Must make pit stop at the bathroom wherein lies the well-loved painkillers. Painkillers that will numb any physical pain. For it to do more would be a little less than miraculous.

A putrid stench greets me as I open the bathroom door. Vomit. I grimace at the sight of the multi-coloured mucus, not knowing whether or not it belongs to me. Could be Liam's. Could be Daniel's. Could belong to a complete stranger. It wouldn't be the first time. Although, there is something strangely intimate in cleaning someone else's waste.

And I do so without qualm.

That's the sort of life I lead now. Endless string of parties at night; cleaning up vomit, liquor bottles and bags of junk food in the morning.

I like it. There's pleasure in the mundane for me. For me, whose past is riddled with extravagance, power and greed... it's almost paradise. Almost.

I look at myself in the mirror. I look horrible. This fact make me smile a little. Years ago, I would have been scrambling around, casting spells, trying to restore myself to some mistaken form of perfection.

Perfection could kiss my arse. And if I played my cards right last night, she probably did.

I open the medicine cabinet and swallowing a few pills a moment later, I begin my day.

A shower. A cold one. They say cold showers in the morning can wake up the dead. They're right. It certainly woke me up.

I'm not the least bit surprised that there's only one clean towel in the bathroom. No, actually I am. I had very well anticipated there to be no clean towels whatsoever.

I shake the water out of hair and wrap the pale yellow cloth about my waist. I'm already running late, but I make no decision at moving faster.

My stomach feels much better. To breakfast then.

Side-stepping pizza boxes, beer cans and some other things that one wouldn't be able to stomach, let along describe, I reach the kitchen unscathed. Except for monstrously dirty feet.

This time, though, I'm surprised.

"Excuse me, miss?"

She turns around, her hair a frenzied waterfall about her shoulders and down her back. She looks at me and blushes.

I'm not nearly as appropriately dressed as I would have preferred. And, quite thankfully, neither is she. It might not be as revealing as a towel, but it is revealing nonetheless. She is, after all, wearing one of my dress shirts.

And that just didn't make sense.

She's staring at me with huge brown eyes, and I know she's waiting for me to say something else. I can't. I'm staring at a face I can't place, but one I know I should. She isn't some startling beauty, or an exotic temptress. Hers a face that no one would be able to forget.

And yet somehow, it felt like I had. And for that I sensed in me deep regret.

"You're wearing my shirt," I state simply while opening the refrigerator door. I scan the contents quickly. An easy task when one's fridge is in desperate need of restocking. Not that it was ever fully stocked before...

Orange juice! Drink for the gods.

"I... I'm sorry. I thought it belonged to Liam..."

Oh, Liam, eh?

I brush off her eminent apology with my hand and a small smile. "Don't worry about it," I tell her, this time searching for an unused glass. One couldn't be doing spells in front of potential Muggles. And Liam had a very odd fixation for Muggles.

Very odd indeed.

"You must be Daniel."

I look at her distractedly. And then not so distractedly.

She was really... something else. Couldn't help but wonder if she had a sister.

"What? Uh, actually..."

She smiles with the sunshine in her eyes. "I'm Hermione Granger."

Ironic the places life can take you, the people you'll meet. The most unlike places can turn your life around; make you see things that you could never expect to see in your lifetime. And some people... the ones you least expect—they can be the people who define your life.

And so it begins.

Renewing acquaintances. Forming friendships. No longer under the pretense of superiority or difference… Just two people.

That's all we were. Two people.

**Author's Notes:**

Short? It's just a prologue. The next chapters will be longer and in third-person POV, unless I'm requested to keep it at a first-person POV.

This is a new one. I don't know what I'm going to do with this one. I'll probably keep this as simple as possible. I'd really like for them to fall in love without all the hassle. Of course, that doesn't mean that this won't be hassle-free ^__~

I know I haven't updated Steep for the longest time. I'll be updating it any day now, though, so don't order a public flogging just yet.

PLEASE REVIEW ^__^ I want to get as much input as you can offer.


	2. Chapter One: Like Rain

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to J.K. Rowling.

I rarely know what I'm doing. It's because I've stopped thinking about things overly much. That's torture. Listing the 'what might have beens' in your head, knowing that what might have been will never be.

So why bother?

The past has passed. There is nothing left but to look forward. But even then, I never think pass tomorrows. For who knows what tomorrow will bring?

Or today?

~~

"Hermione?"

She looked at him oddly. It was as if he were out-of-place, a weed among flowers or if her were lucky—the other way around.

He watched her hand slowly make its way to her mouth. "Oh… _Merlin_…" Her voice was a slight whisper and her eyes conveyed paramount disbelief and shock.

Draco smiled. "Hello, Hermione," he told her in an even and unassuming tone. "I suppose I'll introduce myself—Or _re_introduce myself as the case may be…"

She shook her head. "No," she replied hastily, putting both hands in the air as if to ward off some sort of evil spirit. Or some sort of Malfoy as the case may be. "I know who you are. Believe me, I do."

"And I do believe you. You were delightfully emphatic."

Hermione raised an eyebrow at him. Draco Malfoy. She truly couldn't get over that particular fact. Draco Malfoy. It was odd. Draco Malfoy. She should really leave before Liam woke up. Draco Malfoy! "So what's for breakfast?"

Beginnings are odd things. They happen without warning sometimes. Like rain…

Draco shrugged. "Let's see, shall we?" He opened the refrigerator door wider for her to see. "We have orange juice, a personal favourite. A jar of pistachios. A jar of green olives… Cheese. Oh wait, make that moldy cheese. And… I think that may very well be some sort of meat, although we should have it tested just to be sure."

"No, wait," she said tentatively and Draco could see her hesitation coming in at abrupt moments. "When I asked what's for breakfast, what I really meant to ask was, 'Why are you being so _civil_? Because it's bloody odd the way you're acting, you know, compared to our years in Hogwarts where you were anything but civil."

Draco regarded her for a moment in silence. And then for much longer. He was silent until she began fidgeting under his expressionless gaze and still silent when she was glaring at him harshly.

"That was ten years ago," he stated simply. He finally found not one but two unused glasses and proceeded to pour out orange juice for both of them.

How domestic.

"Nine and a half years, actually," she murmured silently, as if hypnotized with how the orange substance could make its way from carton to glass. "But who's counting?"

Draco handed her one of glasses, a very familiar (though not nostalgia-inducing) smirk on his face. "So, you and Liam, huh?" He waggled his eyebrows at her in mock suggestion.

Hermione sighed and sat down on one of vacant kitchen chairs. "Would you take offense if I said that he and I… that it was a serious lapse in judgment?" She took a sip of her juice, but her eyes twinkled as she looked over the rim and Draco was at a lost.

For a bare moment.

"Why would I take offense in that?" he asked, before suddenly remembering his current state of dress. Or undress. As it didn't seem to bother the female inhabitant of the room, he didn't deem it cause to back out of a perfectly amicable conversation.

"You _are_ friends, are you not?"

"Well, sure… if you use the term loosely."

"But you _are_ roommates."

Draco shrugged and ran his hand through his short hair. "That doesn't mean anything," he drawled, settling his glass down on the dark marble counter. "People don't have to be friends in order to live with each other. I doubt that the inhabitants of hell are on friendly terms with Satan."

"Point taken."

"Indeed."

Hermione studied Draco in the ensuing silence. He knew that the pause was prelude to her own 'big' question. He had seen that look before. In fact, many times before. It was that look that informed you that Hermione Granger was just warming up to a topic and soon a multitude of questions would be fired.

"If you don't mind me asking… But, what happened after Hogwarts?"

"You want to catch some breakfast somewhere?"

"Sure."

~~

There was a time when things used to make sense. There was a time when any question that I might have—had a corresponding answer.

Then my father died.

I no longer had the answers. In their place, stood tens of thousands of questions, glaring at me like a bad dream. They haunted me. A past that lingers like the scent of roses in Spring…

~~

"The war has changed you greatly," Hermione mused almost to herself, her buttered toast forgotten in her head. She smiled softly before continuing, "But I suppose, we've all changed because of it."

Draco stared down at his plate of eggs, the yolk running wildly in every direction, meeting in pools of yellow. Suddenly, it no longer seemed as appetizing as it previously had. "And you? How have you changed?"

"I have nightmares."

He raised an eyebrow in interest. He made a pretense of stirring his black coffee (which really did require any stirring of the sort) and let his eyes wander some.

"It's all right," she told him with a slight smile. "I know you want to ask. So ask away. It's only fair. I get to nose in on your past, though, right?"

Draco inclined his head, considering this for a moment, before nodding slowly. He wasn't sure what her was agreeing to, though, or if he was agreeing at all.

"What do you dream about?"

Hermione put down her toast and fork on the plate before her and took a deep breath. "They began before the war even ended. Do you remember those days?"

It wasn't really a question, but more of an idle statement of fact. For really, who could forget those days? Those terrible days that began and ended in fear. Fear etched itself more deeply in the mind than any other emotion.

Draco inclined his head in agreement, though his eyes were cast away.

"Sometimes, I dream about my own funeral." Hermione laughed an empty little laugh. "Isn't that just terribly morbid? All of a sudden, I'm looking at myself and I'm dead. _Dead_. I'm inside a coffin in this room that I can't recognise. There are only a few people there—people I don't know… And I'm waiting and I'm waiting…" She paused and after taking a shuddering breath and fixing her stare on her coffee cup she continued. "I'm waiting for a familiar face but no one comes."

"Why is that?"

There's comfort in noise. The clanking of forks and knives against plates being stack one upon the other, the din of loud conversation and laughter… Sounds drown thoughts.

Somewhat.

"The first few times that I dreamed about it, I asked myself that exact same question. Then it came to me." A sad look came over her and Draco was almost sorry for having asked. "They were all gone."

"Gone?" he repeated, and the question hung in the air like a stale smell before it was answered.

"Dead. Deceased. Departed. Ceased to Breathe." It was obvious that Hermione was trying to make light of the topic, but the amusement fell rather short and neither one laughed.

Draco found out something new, though. The impenetrable Hermione Granger's greatest fear was being alone. That's where they differed, he supposed. Well, one of the many aspects wherein they were different. He chose reclusion while she was terrified of the prospect.

"It's a very boring dream," she said with a sigh, "I would have fallen asleep had I already not been sleeping."

He cracked a smile and with his fork, nudged her plate closer to her. "You have an appetite of a mouse." He laughed loudly when he once again became the recipient of that all too familiar glare.

"I do, however, know how to not have these dreams. I merely tire myself out, you know, so that once I fall asleep… I'll just sleep. A relatively painless, dreamless sleep."

"Sounds… good."

"It is. Ingenious even."

"So… what about Potter and Weasley? How have they been holding up?"

Hermione shrugged as she held up her toast once again, inwardly grimacing at its cold state. "Well, _Harry_ is… He's all right. He's been working for the Ministry of Magic for some time now and that's been working out great for him."

"I know that part. I know that Potter is now an influential political dunderhead. I read the papers—including yours, I might add." He ran his hand through his hair and smirked. "What I meant was, how has the war _changed_ him?"

"Oh…" The toast was laid down on the plate again and Hermione unconsciously gripped the edge of the table with both her hands. "Harry… He's still Harry. What can I say? I can't say that he rarely shows his emotions, or tells me how he feels." She lowered her gaze on her lap. "The war has broken him. Sometimes, it's as if I'm only talking to a shell. Like he isn't there. It's been a while now, they said—Dumbledore and some others—that it was only a matter of time before he came back to us. The old Harry. But it's already been so long and he's still… empty. There isn't a day that goes by that I wonder if I have Harry Potter back—not the Harry Potter the rest of the world knows, but that Harry Potter that I know."

For a moment it felt like nothing could ever be said again between them. That sitting together, having breakfast in a Muggle café was a large mistake… each of them drawing the other deeper into a past best forgotten.

Draco stared at his coffee mug before breaking the uneasy silence. "I know what people think of my father. Or me. The bad guys—that's who we were." There was an obvious bitterness in his voice and no matter how much Hermione wanted to deny his statement, they both knew that anything contrary would be a lie.

"And then Voldemort killed my father. That was odd. Growing up, I was taught that black is black and white is white. But at that moment, when I saw my father, eyes wide open without a sign of life… things were no longer black and white. Things were just entirely confusing."

"And so you ran away. After Hogwarts your mother…" Hermione bit her lip. "You went missing for years and next we hear you're some hotshot—"

"So the story goes."

And so it did.

~~

Friendships are odd things. They happen without warning sometimes. Like rain…

And for all of my hidden fears and inhibitions—

I like walking in the rain.

**Author's Notes:**

Thanks to everyone who took the time to read this story and most especially to those who left a review. I truly appreciated the feedback. ^__^ Thank you so much.

My apologies to those who were confused with the prologue. I was supposed to upload the first chapter along with it, however, I wasn't satisfied with it and so I decided to upload the prologue alone. To rule out any more confusion, all first-person POV is Draco.

**This chapter:** It's always been my "theory" that had Draco and Hermione met under different circumstances, they would have gotten along quite well. In canon, they're merely reacting according to norm. Yes, D/Hr shippers, you know you agree with this! So this is the premise of my fic. Meeting under different circumstances where the things that used to matter just don't.

In this chapter, we've established a few things. The war has ended (and seeing as how Harry is still alive, it is only right to assume Voldemort dead). Lucius is dead. Malfoy is somewhat estranged from Wizarding society and has acquainted himself with the Muggle world in the years that he went missing.

I'm establishing a past and I know that there are many more questions that I'll have to answer because of this chapter, but all in good time ^__^

**Next chapter:** What happened to Ron. Draco and Hermione's chosen professions. And just a whole lot more Draco, okay? Because this is my story and if I say that I get to shag Draco… Okay, that's not happening. ^__^ Nothing hot and steamy in next chapter. That's for the third chapter. ^__~

PLEASE REVIEW!


	3. Chapter Two: Here Nor There

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to J.K. Rowling

My father once said, "It doesn't matter what you have. What matters is what you don't have. What you don't have can either make you or destroy you."

My father was quite philosophical if anyone took the time to notice.

~~

Draco leaned back on his chair, rapidly tapping his quill on the large sheet of parchment before him. The seemingly endless tattoo of sound stemmed from the uneasy thoughts plaguing his mind.

He checked his watch and saw that it was just nine thirty. He had been in his office for half an hour and already he couldn't concentrate at the important tasks at hand.

Designing brooms had been Draco Malfoy's pot of gold at the end of the rainbow. It had been a childhood diversion for him—that and customary losses against Gryffindor wore him down to wondering what the hell was wrong—but once push came to shove, it was all he could boast of.

Quite ingenuous if one took the time to think about it. Not that it was easy work, mind you. It required extensive knowledge in Maths and Physics and of course Draco knew none of that. He worked by trial and error, testing his designs himself. All he had in his pocket were dumb luck and a shiteload of guts, and apparently—that was all he needed to succeed. That and other people's money, of course.

The intercom on his desk gave a short, obtrusive buzz followed by the voice of Abigail Woodrow, his secretary.

"Mr. Malfoy? Mr. Lafferty is here. The, er… younger Mr. Lafferty. He wants to talk to you. He says it's urgent."

Draco expelled a wary sigh. When it came to _Mr. Lafferty_ it was always urgent, however, never important. "Send him in."

A few moments later a man in his early twenties strolled into Draco's office. His gait and easy smile spoke of his inherent confidence. His stature and poise were lent by his upbringing. By his floppy brown hair, it as obvious that he was in dire need of a haircut.

Liam Lafferty was the product of roots very similar to that of Draco Malfoy. Impeccable blood. Filthy rich. Cultured to the very core. A life _to die for_.

"What do you need, Liam?" Draco asked curtly, pushing his chair away from his desk.

"I want to see it."

"Then go to Production."

"I did. They won't let me see it."

Dealing with Liam was like dealing with a seven-year-old. Or better yet, a young Draco Malfoy. His immaturity could drain the patience out of a saint. Many times, Draco regretted his decision of taking David Lafferty's money and the conditions set therein. However, at that point in Draco's life, there had been no other way. He had runaway right after Hogwarts, right before the war ended. Alone and without money with him, resources were horribly lacking. He had to take what he could and when it was offered.

As David Lafferty, Liam's father, had stipulated, he would give Draco the money on one condition.

Keep an eye on his sons.

It had seemed like a good idea at that time. Great, even. Easy enough that it almost felt like stealing. However, Draco had never heard of the infamy of the Lafferty brothers. And Draco thought that _he_ was a handful in his youth. The home-schooled siblings proved to be a little too excited upon being set loose into the real world. 

"Listen, Liam," Draco said in clipped tones, his hands slowly curling into tight fists. "The launching of the new model will be on Friday. Perhaps, you can pull the reins on your _enthusiasm_ and wait until then."

Liam wrinkled his nose, his disdain for the suggestion immensely blatant. "Listen, Malfoy. My father put good money into your little _venture_. A lot of money, now that I think about it. Now, I _strongly suggest_ that you hand me a sample of that 'new model' right now and we'll forget this ever happened."

Liam was a dolt. If he could make money out of his stupidity he would be the richest man in the world.

But as it were, for all of David Lafferty's hope that some of Draco's ambition would rub off his sons—it was all for naught. Although Daniel was showing some interest in the business, all Liam wanted was a corner office he could lure women into with the promise of promotions. Which, ironically, he wasn't eligible to hand out like sweets.

"Oh, all right…" Draco scratched his head. "How about I don't tell your father that tiny 'incident' I had to take care of at that Muggle club the other night because of you? And then we can forget that you never came into my office and talked out of your arse a whole damned lot."

That was enough to duly chastise the young Lafferty.

He didn't know what Hermione saw in him. And no "serious lapse in judgment" could ever justify such a mistake. Draco smiled at the thought of Hermione.

A short cough reminded him that he wasn't alone. Unfortunately.

"Okay, Liam," he told the younger man tiredly. "We have finished our lesson. What have learned today? Never blackmail a man who has more shite on you that you do on him. Great. Thank you. Goodbye." Draco gestured at the door.

Liam ignored his dismissal and sat down in one of the armchairs in front of Draco's desk. "So you and Hermione, huh?" he said with a wink, which made Draco realise that nothing he had just said had entered Liam Lafferty's brain. "Shagging like bunnies yet?"

Shagging like bunnies?

Merlin, will the rodent references never stop?

"No, Liam. We are not shagging like bunnies. Hermione and I are just…" Draco left off uneasily.

"Just what? Just _friends_?"

"Why do you say that like it's something disgusting?" Draco carefully overlooking the fact that he might be getting a touch defense. Or overly defensive. "And yes, we're just friends."

"Wow…" Liam said softly, obviously baffled that such a relationship between a woman and a man existed. "Friends." He gave a low whistle and leaned back comfortably in the plush armchair, unaware that at that moment someone wanted to hex him out of the room. "But that Hermione… she's something else. I have to tell you, she had the smoothest skin… And there was this spot just above her…"

Draco had had enough. He did not want to hear about Hermione skin. He did not want to hear about her… her… _spot_. Draco inwardly flinched at the mere mention of Liam's frolicking about with Hermione. It was too uncomfortable. Hermione was his friend, for Merlin's sake. It was just plain disgusting hearing such stories being said with such zeal.

"Liam?" Draco said sternly, his eyes ablaze, his quill crushed in his fist.

"Yeah, Draco?"

"Door. Use it. Now."

~~

My father and organization were married to each other. I think it might have made my mother jealous on more than one occasion. But that's the sort of person my father was.

He valued having things in their place. And he had a place for everything.

~~

Draco muttered a curse under his breath as he picked up the pace. His shoes clipped the cold pavement as he tried to keep from running towards his destination. He was already half an hour late and he knew that there would be hell to pay once he finally arrived.

And there she was.

"You're late," Hermione scolded, though an easy smile graced her features. "Remind me to hex you later."

"Later?"

Hermione grabbed his arm and they set off at furious pace down the park path they knew by heart. The autumn winds lashed against their bright faces, giving their cheeks a pink tinge.

"Yes, because I have a schedule, mister and you must respect that. I shall have to squeeze in hexing you between buying a present for Tim and picking up my dry cleaning."

"I forgot about that." Draco groaned in annoyance. He pulled on Hermione's hand a little to keep her from tripping over her own feet. "As fun as I think it would be to see you fall flat on your face, I think we should slow down."

"Schedule. Sacred!" Draco looked on amusedly as Hermione tried to make some sort of threat with her tiny fist. "All right, you win. But if we do not complete the sacred schedule then you will have to buy dinner."

"I always buy dinner."

"Right, and I'd like to keep it that way."

Three months had come and gone. Such a short while between now and then, but it was enough to create a concrete enough relationship wherein two people felt as comfortable as they did. Sure, it was odd. Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger pursuing a friendship? He would have hexed the privates off anyone who would have suggested such a preposterous idea had they still been in the confines of Hogwarts.

However… they were no longer in Hogwarts. And the war was behind them now. All the bindings, trappings and obstacles that could have kept from engaging in such a "taboo" relationship have been torn down and for the most part, simply ignored.

"What were you groaning on about Tim? You forgot to get him a present?" Hermione brushed a riot of curls away from her face before continuing. "Well, we can share, if you're _that_ upset about it."

Draco shook his head and frowned. "The launching of new broom is on Friday," he explained. "I had only just realised that Tim's birthday party's on the same night."

"Well, you can just stop by, Draco. I don't think it matters if you're late." She turned to him and gave him a small wink. "You know that Tim fancies you. I'm sure he wouldn't mind if you weren't on time so long as you got there eventually."

"As much as Tim's a great guy, the feeling just isn't mutual," Draco replied, the uneasiness evident. "And I won't be able to make it at all. I have to be there the entire night."

"Oh."

He knew her well enough to know that she was disappointed, no matter how valiantly she tried to hide it.

"But you _will_ come, though?" He said, taking her hand and slipping it into the bend of his arm. "To the launching, I mean."

Draco watched as she pursued her lips in contemplation. "I don't know… I mean, the idea of brooms and flying?" Hermione visibly shuddered at the thought.

"It's open bar."

"Ooh. Tim's party—male stripper."

Draco shot her a mock look of forlorn. "Draco Malfoy loses again," he said in his most petulant tones. "You wound me with your fiendishness."

Hermione grinned cheekily up at him as they turned at the corner and happened upon a street market. "Fiendishness. Big word, Malfoy, think you can handle talking for the rest of the day?"

He was about to answer with an equally cutting remark when she pulled on his hand and he found himself running—he, _Draco Malfoy, running_—towards colourful stands selling wares ranging from clothes, blankets, to the bathroom sink.

They stopped in front of a hat stand and Hermione picked up a large, velvet blue hat and placed it atop Draco's head. "And they said you couldn't make a silk purse out of a sow's ear."

"Hey, hey, hey… no more taking potshots against the defenseless." Draco took the ridiculous thing off his head and frowned. "Now, if they had this in orange…"

Hermione opened her mouth and let out a shrill laughter and Draco quickly clamped his hand over her mouth. "Hermione, shut up. We'll get arrested for disturbing the peace."

"Draco," she whispered when she finally removed his hand from her mouth and leaned up on her tiptoes. "If they knew us, then they'd also know that we've been disturbing the peace for a while now."

Draco bit back a laugh of his own. After which, he promptly bought the hat.

Hours later found the two of them—presents and dry cleaning in tow—in small café in a nondescript part of Diagon Alley. And Draco was staring at Hermione in total amazement.

"I swear to the powers above, Hermione Granger, that if you eat me out of house and home, I will move in with you," he warned ominously. "And I'll always leave the toilet seat up."

She rolled her eyes and put down the menu. "Yes, because living with Liam and Daniel is such a dream come true."

"Your judiciousness is blinding."

"That's because I'm the Queen of All Thing Reasonable."

"Says the girl who slept with Liam Lafferty."

"Touché."

Draco laughed and leaned back in his somewhat uncomfortable seat. It was obvious that the piece of furniture was chosen on the basis of aesthetics rather than functionality. Thus, it fit in quite well with its quaint décor, though his posture was in the process of commencing a revolt.

"Guess who I saw on the cover of Witch Weekly?"

Uh oh…

"Ronald Weasley."

Draco wrinkled his forehead. "Conversations I have with you about Ronald Weasley are never—"

"Pleasant, I know," Hermione finished hastily.

"And let it be known that the unpleasantness is never my doing."

She gave a good growl before biting out an answer. "It is known, Malfoy." She sighed and placed her hands on the table before plopping her chin on top of them. "I'm over him. Very much so. It's been a year, after all. But seriously… sometimes I wonder how I was ever engaged to that man."

Approximately a year ago, Hermione Granger was happily engaged to Ronald Weasley. Approximately nine months ago, she wasn't. As far as Draco knew, it hadn't sent her into some sort of morbid deep depression, though it had made her sad. Years at Hogwarts had their numerous arguments pegged as some twisted form of sexual tension. Little did they know that years after, the sexual tension would die down and the arguments would still be there.

"Well, he's famous now. Star Quidditch Player. Etc, etc, etc…" Draco made rolling hand gestures that didn't seem much appreciated.

"Funny."

"What?"

Hermione tilted her head to the side and regarded Draco in silence for a moment. "I've always imagined you on the cover of that blasted magazine."

"I, er…" Draco gave an odd little laugh. "I was actually. Once. And I'd really rather not talk about it."

"Ooh. I knew it. They have no taste whatsoever."

~~

In the twenty-seven years of my life, the one thing that I've truly learned is that although things never go the way you want to them to… it always seems to work out in the end.

Or perhaps, that's just because I'm lucky.

My mother once said, "Keep a smile in your pocket and you'll never be poor." She might have been humouring me then, now that I think about it. Considering that I had, at that time, just lost the two galleons my father gave me. Of course, that doesn't have anything to do with being lucky…

But that is neither here nor there. Although, nothing ever is…

**Author's Notes:**

This was supposed to be uploaded with a day earlier, but I was preoccupied with reading *cough*smut*cough* And I'm flying sans beta . So I'm pretty undecided if I like this chapter or not. It feels sloppy. Meh.

**This Chapter:** Yes, there's a time shift. I hope I didn't lose anyone on that. But this story isn't the "falling in love in six days" kind of thing. I am evil. I like drawing things out until they get annoying. I'm trying to deal with falling in love as realistically as possible. And as much Draco are meant for each other, they have too much history to be falling into bed right away.

Liam Lafferty. I don't know what I was thinking when I had created him. He sort of presents a parallel to Draco Malfoy… a Draco Malfoy with his life not so drastically altered. I thought it would be interesting to have a juxtapose them and compare the vast differences. I don't want you to hate him, but if you do, be my guest. Just dislike him a little, and be rest assured that he won't present any sort of hindrance to Draco and Hermione.

Ron. Ron, Ron, Ron. I like Ron. But I prefer him out of the picture. So, if you were counting on more Ron, I'm very sorry to disappoint, as I will be providing you with very little Ron entertainment. But to be democratic I'll have you choose: somewhat absentee Ron or asexual Ron? Rest assured (as well) that he will pose no threat to Draco and Hermione.

And finally, Draco and Hermione. Yes, the whole point of this chapter is to reiterate the FRIENDS part. And I think I've reiterated that enough. Be rest assured (yet again) that they won't remain that way forever.

**Next Chapter:** A scene that explains why this is R-rated. **However, it might not be the scene you've been expecting.** If you want to throw something at me, make it snowballs because we don't get snow here and it's been a while since I've last seen snow. Harry Potter.

**Note about "Steep":** I've decided to pull "Steep" from ff.net. This isn't one of those "You haven't been reviewing it enough so there" threats because I absolutely loathe those. I'm reediting all the chapters and I'll repost them with the added chapters. However, I probably won't upload it until after I've finished with this fic. So, if you've been waiting for it… I'm sorry but you'll have to wait for it a little longer. Sorry ^^;;; But it'll be worth it, I promise.

THANKS FOR THE REVIEWS ^___^ PLEASE GIVE ME MORE

Pathetic much? I know I am. Hee ^__^ And I'm very unapologetic for that.


	4. Chapter Three: One Good Thing

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to J.K. Rowling

**Note:** If you're uncomfortable with the idea of sex… I feel very, very sorry for you. Sex is a wonderful thing. Embrace it! That being said, there's a sex scene up ahead. It's very mild, though (I think) so erm, nothing to worry about. Really. ^__~

Women. _Women_.

Such beautiful creatures. And sometimes, too beautiful for their own good. The sway of their hips could hypnotise the most somber of men. They were the worst temptation that the Heavens could have ever thought of to create and it was only in my mind and in the rest of the male races' just how miraculous it is that men's hands were made to fit a woman's breast, the curve of their buttocks.

It's really no wonder why I feel the need to help myself. Every now and then…

Again and again…

~~

She was lovely. Comparable to a rose in winter… rare, fragile, his.

She lay on his bed, her bare, seemingly serpentine body beckoning to him—a feast to a famished man. And he was there, on top of her in less than a second, holding her, touching her in places she had only read in magazines and heard in whispered conversation, consuming her with such ferocity that the passion seemed almost like… magic.

There was a sense of urgency and they both felt it. A blanket of need covered them both and sensitized their flesh far more than normal.

With sleek movements he grasped her thigh tenderly and raised it high onto his strong shoulder. He drew back and in a moment later, he was there, in her, his hunger being fed by her moist center.

Draco inhaled her scent deeply, his intoxication with it leading him to thrust deeper and faster into her welcoming warmth in a deliberate uneven tempo. She was so tight and so _hot_.

He leaned down and his hands grasped at the silky bed sheet as he arched his back in pleasure and pain. Merlin, he was going to have to make a mental note to tell her to cut her fingernails. He grit his teeth as her hands made another path down his back and onto his buttocks, squeezing them for all they were worth.

And it seemed that they were worth a bloody lot.

"Draco…"

Spoken like an angel.

It took all his power to slow down and with as much control as he could muster he reached on his hands down between their bodies slick with sweat. He smiled the moment he pressed two fingers into her wetness eliciting a hot moan against his ear. He bent his head down, letting his hair rake down her neck before capturing an inviting nipple into his mouth.

Draco Malfoy was not a selfish lover. To him, lovemaking was an art. An art that he had perfected over the years. He knew this was torture for her. His sporadic thrusts into her core left her in equal throes of completion and need.

"Ooh…" Draco breathed heatedly against her full breast. He gave another delicious moan when he felt her hips thrust up against him, taking him more fully and even deeper than before and then biting into the tender flesh of his neck. "Ooh…"

Um.

Draco came to an abrupt stop and leaning on his side, he stared into eyes dark with passion.

"I, uh…" Draco cleared his throat. He hadn't wanted to ask but before he could stop himself, the question had already passed from his lips.

_"Er, might I ask for your name? Again?"_

A quarter of an hour later found Draco Malfoy alone on his bed, cold and unsatisfied, utterly regretful and filled with self-loathing.

He knew enough to wait until the end to ask stupid questions. Questions like, "Are you married?" "Do have you any diseases I should know about?" "So you don't have any sort of criminal past, do you?" and the like.

_I'll never learn,_ Draco thought with a groan. He quickly got to his feet and pulled on a pair of black trousers that lay carelessly at the foot of his bed. He braced himself for what lay behind his bedroom door.

Music already had the flat reverberating in a dizzying beat and the bass was nearly strong enough to make his stomach roll over and shudder. The moment he opened the door, the compulsion to hex everyone out of the living room was overpowering.

"What in Hades' name is going on here?" he asked exasperatedly, his question pointed at whichever Lafferty brother was sober enough to comprehend English, which would have automatically made it Daniel as Liam was already passed out on the settee. Drooling.

Daniel, though, it looked, was having a difficult time understanding what had been asked of him. His head was tilted to the side and it was visible to anyone that he was still digesting the words one by one.

"I, erm… is a bachelor party?"

Well, that certainly explained the hookers that scattered the living room scantily-clad in… almost nothing. One of which was in the process of feeling Draco up.

What was this? The fourth bachelor party for the month?

He gave her a withering glare that sent her scampering in the opposite direction. "I'm going out. By the time I come back, this mess better be gone, your _guests_ gone and the two of you… just elsewhere," he snapped, while grabbing his coat by the front door along with a warm grey scarf.

It was only too perfect that he forgot to put on a shirt.

A few moments later, a properly dressed Draco Malfoy stepped out into the cold November night, with one destination in mind. Two actually, but that was completely beside the point.

He checked his watch and saw that it was a little after midnight. Just in luck as the coffee shop at the corner of the street closed at one in the morning. In silent contemplation with only the sound of his footsteps and cats rattling around in trashcans as his company, Draco went on in a leisurely pace.

What an awful night it had turned out to be. What he wouldn't give to be back in bed with… well, with… whatever her name was. It's been ages (well, a week) since he'd been intimate with someone and he doubted if his libido understood that this lack of action had nothing to do with lack of want. As it were, it had already bordered into _need_.

Draco entered the café with a noticeable grim look on his face and later left with two steaming cups of delicious smelling coffee, scones and without the menacing frown (which might have gotten stuck between the sticky buns and the strawberry tarts). The smell of cinnamon could do wonders to the disposition.

Thankfully, the street was deserted and the necessity of looking for a dark alley way from which to Apparate from and thus popped his way to Hermione's front door without too much hassle.

He knocked three times in succession.

And then another three.

"Hermione?"

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, the door swung open.

"Malfoy?"

Draco tilted his head to the side. "Potter?"

~~

Death Eater jokes. Seriously. I've read them in the Daily Prophet. In the funnies.

Admittedly, I have laughed at some of them, as they were indeed comical. But then what is humour? Isn't the best humour just truth dressed up in wit? Essentially, we're laughing at things that might have hurt us in some way, truths that stung and pasts that may have altered our lives irreparably.

Life. Life's just one big joke, isn't it?

~~

Someone, somewhere up above, had a sense of humour.

Having coffee with Harry Potter, childhood nemesis, bane of his existence—the possibility that left him in throes of confusion and amazement. After all, they weren't tearing at each other's hair or hexing each other to a bloody pulp at the very least. There was an uneasy tension between them that couldn't be ignored, though; it didn't weigh down on Hermione's good mood.

The pill of happiness hath cometh to Hermione Granger and swallowed her whole. It was disconcerting, to say the least. Not that it wasn't normal to see her happy. It was just odd for her to be happy and not worried about the prospect of bloodshed.

Moments wherein the two of them found themselves in each other's company were always tense. Perhaps much of the tension had to do with the sordid past that they shared, but beyond that… it was just habit. The nasty looks and biting retorts no longer existed. Draco no longer had anything to fight for and Harry—Harry was just tired of fighting.

Draco shifted uncomfortably in his seat. "So, Potter… How's work at the Ministry?"

"Good. Good."

"Ah, good."

Harry took a sip of his coffee before clearing his throat in a not so discreet manner. "And you? How's the business?"

"Good…"

So much for spontaneous conversation…

Draco smiled weakly at Harry, who was staring into his coffee cup in an odd sort of daze, and Hermione, who was enthusiastically scribbling something onto the pieces of parchment laid out on her huge work desk.

"I'll just get some more coffee to erm…" Draco stood up and Hermione finally looked up from her occupied state. "Add to my coffee," he finished off lamely and made his way to Hermione's lavish kitchen.

He sat on one of the counter stools and sighed, leaning his head on his arm and closing his eyes. Ugh, he was tired. It was one in the morning and he couldn't keep his eyes open. Going back to his flat wasn't an option either has he suspected that the brothers had already passed out in drunkenness before they could follow his orders.

Draco felt two arms envelop his waist and Hermione's chin land on his shoulder. "You all right? You seem a bit… well, off to be perfectly honest."

The calm tones of her voice proceeded to lull him into a sense of comfort and security. Draco leaned his head against hers and smiled. "Just tired is all… What's Harry doing here, by the way?"

"I honestly haven't the faintest clue. All of a sudden he was knocking on my door asking to come in and next…"

"And next? Next what?" Draco prodded on. There was something Hermione wasn't telling him, he knew. The way her tone hitched ever so slightly and how her grip about his torso tightened almost imperceptibly. Almost.

"Next thing I know… we're talking. Like it was before."

Draco clenched his jaw. "And this is a good thing?"

"It's a very good thing," Hermione said emphatically.

He could feel her smile and Draco couldn't help but feel just a tad bit jealous. He knew that he shouldn't, though, for Harry and Hermione's friendship had no bearing on his relationship with Hermione. But he couldn't erase the fact that Harry knew more about Hermione than he could ever dream of knowing. The tiny details of the young Hermione that he always used to torment were lost to him and the knowledge of such earned Draco a deep regret.

"I'm glad then," he whispered softly. "Aren't you tired of standing?"

Hermione shook her head. "I've been sitting for more than an hour. I can hardly feel my bum." She chuckled lightly, a rich sound that echoed in the room. "Anyway, Harry and I were talking and he brought up this ridiculous thing—have you ever watched _If Lucy Fell_? Ah, never mind. Stupid question. So we were talking about how our love lives, or truthfully, how we lack love lives and he said to me… he said, 'Hey, Hermione, if we find ourselves still alone and at the brink of suicide when we turn thirty, how about we get married?'"

Draco placed his hand on top of Hermione's hands and squeezed them. "You're joking, right? Or at least, _he's_ joking, because that's something you don't joke about," Draco said, fairly contradicting himself at every turn.

"I don't know," she replied with a shrug. "The thought is awfully comforting, though, don't you think? To know that when things go wrong, someone will always want you."

Draco stared at the pretty mural on the kitchen wall. It was an imitation of _The Touching Hands_ by Michelangelo.

"Comforting," he echoed tonelessly.

"I'm not disturbing anything, am I?"

Draco and Hermione turned to see Harry standing idly by the doorway. He ran his hand through his hair a couple of times, reminiscent of a nervous man waiting while his wife was delivering their first born child.

Hermione withdrew from her embrace around and Draco felt a vast emptiness enter him. If Harry was an agitated father-to-be, Draco was currently feeling like a fish being gutted.

"Well, I need to go now," Harry said, a slight smile on his tired face. "Have to be at work early tomorrow."

Hermione sighed and walked towards the black-haired man and gave him a tight hug before lending him a few parting words. "If you work yourself any harder, Potter, I'm going to skewer you and feed you to a pack of wild… whatever Hagrid has kept in the stables of Hogwarts nowadays."

Who would have thought that one day Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy would share a laugh? Certainly neither one of them, but Hermione smiled at the intimate atmosphere that had fallen upon them suddenly.

"Hermione Granger? Telling me to take it easy?" Harry said in mock surprise. "I never thought I would see the day…"

Hermione lovingly slapped Harry's arm, turned him on his heel and pushed him bodily into the living room.

"Owl me," Hermione called out to him before he vanished in a puff of green smoke via her fireplace.

Smiling she turned to Draco, who had taken Harry's previous place by the doorway. "Going home?"

She didn't have to ask. They both knew that he wasn't going home.

"Don't tell me. They're having another bachelor party."

Draco grimaced at the amusement in Hermione's voice. "It isn't funny. As much as the sound of naked women prancing about in my living may sound appealing… The thought of having to _pay_ them to do so and the fact that they've probably 'been around the street' some, diminishes that appeal."

Hermione leaned up on her toes and gave him a tight hug. "Poor, ickle Draco! Being felt up by naked women! For shame!" Ignoring Draco's glare, she took him firmly by the hand and led him towards the hall that led to the bedrooms.

They came up to the guest room. And they went past the guest room.

"Er… Hermione?"

Her hand was already on the doorknob of her bedroom when Draco decided to stop and make Hermione face him. "Is there something wrong?" He brought his hand beneath her chin and tilted her face upwards.

It took a moment to absorb the tears in her eyes and Draco felt a flood of possessiveness overcome him.

"I don't want to be alone tonight," she whispered, her hands clutching his upper arms tightly. "This morning, I was reading the newspaper. There was this woman and she was found dead in her flat. She'd been dead for a whole bloody week! A whole week, Draco… And I couldn't help but think…"

Since the day they had been reacquainted, Draco had yet to see Hermione cry. And now that he was, he didn't quite know what to do. But he understood her fear. He knew of her nightmares, but they had always seemed fantastical somehow. However, this piece of news made her fears a possibility.

With a little less resolve than he would have liked, Draco opened the door to Hermione's bedroom, the scent of lavender greeting him. He bent down and swept the sobbing woman into his arms. Carefully, he carried her towards her lovely, antique canopy bed.

Of course it _had_ to be upholstered in scarlet. Draco would have laughed at that little fact had his arms not been soaking wet from tears.

"Don't go, Draco!" Hermione cried out the moment he laid her down on her bed.

Draco smiled at her and sat down on the bed beside her, kicking off his shoes. "Scoot over, Granger," he ordered her. "I'm not going anywhere, sweetheart."

He reclined beside Hermione's prone body and hauled her up against him. "Stop crying, Hermione, unless you want us to float out of her in a flood of your tears." Draco grinned when he felt her shudder slightly before finally calming down.

"I love you."

Draco sighed and closed his eyes. "Likewise."

~~

The one good thing about living in Slytherin? I forget.

I was a nasty kid back in Hogwarts. Possibly the nastiest, I suppose, and I take some perverse pride in that. (Hey, once a Slytherin, always a Slytherin.) But it was tiring.

No one understood that when you're in Slytherin, you _must_ be strong. The weak will never succeed. That nastiness, that viciousness and cruelty that I had often exhibited? I _always _exhibited. It wasn't just for show. It was a way of life. The Slytherins would eat their own for breakfast if there were nothing left to consume. And if I had, for even just a moment, let my guard down, I would have ended up with a knife on my back.

As my father did.

Ah, there we go…The one good thing about living in Slytherin: Lots of green décor.

**Author's Notes:**

Gah. I'm being hounded by more Draco/Hermione plot bunnies… of which I've decided to entertain one. However, I won't be able to update it as often as I do this story, if I do decide to upload it here. It will be a Seventh Year-Post-Hogwarts fic. I even have a cutesy title to go with it ^__~

**This Chapter:** I know. . Draco having sex with some unknown. Funny thing about that, actually. I couldn't think of a name to give that someone and I decided to leave her nameless. And then I proceeded to turn it into a joke. Hee ^__^ I have no life.

Now, about that sex scene. It's mild, I know. But I didn't want such an overwhelming scene and I needed it short enough to not drag on the punch line.

Harry Potter. Now, see, I never told you that Harry won't tamper with Draco and Hermione's relationship. Not overly much, but he'll provide as some sort of catalyst. (Incidentally, Catalyst is what I'm planning to call Draco's company). This will never turn into Harry/Hermione. Ever. And certainly no Harry/Draco either.

Draco and Hermione. No, nothing happens (smutty-happens) in Hermione's room. Gah. I want to tear my hair out. That scene in the kitchen would have been perfect to just have them kiss and make love on the kitchen floor. But no… must restrain self!

**Next Chapter:** Christmas! Mistletoe! Possibly eggnog. Heavily spiked eggnog. Ooh la la!

**Humour me: **Just had a thought. If you want to see any other objects incorporated into the next chapter, include them into your review. For example: a violet kite, a torn contraceptive. Hee ^__^ I'll try my best to include them all, but I'm not making any promises. Just objects, though, and no people. So I don't want to see something like… waitress!Pansy or something. Although, that might provide laughs, now that I think about it ^__~

THANKS FOR THE REVIEWS ^___^ REVIEW SOME MORE! NOT THAT I THINK MY USE OF ALL CAPS WILL PERSUADE YOU INTO DOING SO, BUT HEY… WORTH A TRY.


	5. Chapter Four: When I Was

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to J.K. Rowling. "She" belongs to Charles Aznavour. So no, not mine either. And you know what else is not mine? "As Time Goes By." That belongs to Herman Hupfeld.

**Note:** I feel the need to clarify this before continuing on with the chapter. The "I love you" at the end of the last chapter, wasn't a romantic pronouncement. Rather, I wanted to point out a couple of things. Mainly, that Draco and Hermione understand how valuable they are to each other. And the other—that they're both mature enough to realise and acknowledge that fact. Even though, they are absurdly blind to a few other things. ^__~

~~

When I was child, I asked my father why I didn't have another sibling. Not that I wanted one, but because I had merely wondered why others had such big families and mine was, well, _small_.

He never really answered me directly—only tried to convince me that my life would be better off as an only child.

I suppose, I'll never know whether he was right or wrong.

~~

It was Day Four into the Battle of the Wills.

"No."

"But—"

"No, Hermione. No. No. No. And you know what? No. Why don't you just bring Harry?"

Hermione sighed loudly and rolled her eyes for good measure. "Because I want _you_ to be there, you twat. And because Harry's spending the holidays over at the Weasleys' and you know about… well, everything. So, please?"

"No."

Draco ignored the ever-growing pout on Hermione's face, shook out his irreparably wrinkled newspaper and continued reading on about Minister of Magic Amelia Bones' latest accomplishment.

But it was the pacing that finally got to him and grated his nerves. Hermione had almost run a circular track into his expensive Persian carpet and she probably would have gone through the thick mahogany floorboards if Draco hadn't finally admitted defeat.

"Yes, all right?" he bit out, a harsh frown marring his features. "I'll go with you. Are you happy? You can even do your little victory dance to gloat properly."

It wasn't an unpleasant sort of dance, actually, Draco realised while fighting back a smile as she spun about the room. Hermione was like a little child on Christmas morning. Speaking of Christmas… It was a few days away and he had yet to decide what to get her. There wasn't anything that she needed that he could buy for her—she was more than self-sufficient and there wasn't anything that she wanted that she didn't already have. For all her numerous denials, Hermione Granger was a spoiled brat and did as she pleased.

He was the same in that respect now that he thought about it.

"Merlin, Granger, do stop. It isn't at all ladylike," Draco chastised her fondly. "And it's beginning to make me think that you can't live without me."

Hermione paused in mid-twirl, winked and blew him a kiss from across the room. "You're damn right, Oogly Boogly-kins."

"Oogly Boogly-kins?"

She gave a dainty shrug of nonchalance. "That's your Christmas present. A new nickname," she explained evenly. "Actually, it isn't new as you've never had a nickname before. Well, except for—"

Ferret.

"Shut up, Granger or else I won't accompany you to your parents' Christmas party, which you so 'fondly' termed as The Den of Single Male Lions."

Her brow furrowed and her lips were pursued. But she said nothing. Victory was, indeed, a very glorious thing.

He wasn't about to admit that he felt a certain satisfaction in knowing that Hermione needed him. She had been a tad given to exaggeration when she described the situation as being one of life or death. But Draco supposed that if his mother ever got the itch to push him towards "very eligible" women, he'd probably do some serious bodily harm to himself.

He laid down his copy of the Daily Prophet on his desk and sighed. "I don't understand why you wouldn't just inform your mother of your… _unwillingness_ to obey your mother's wishes."

Even before the words left Draco's mouth, they both knew the absurdity of the suggestion. It has been the consensus of both that had their mothers belonged to the same social circle—they probably would have been the best of friends. And as both older women were quick to refute—menopause was a bitch.

Grandchildren. Now. Please. Get to mating.

No ifs, not buts, no "I'm waiting for the love of my life, the one I can be with forever" arguments. Horribly one-sided.

"You know my mum, Draco. When the engagement was broken she wouldn't talk to me for a month. When she finally did, she said that I should sign up for one those online dating services. Besides, dad would want me there." Hermione shook his head and perched her hip on Draco's desk, fingering the discarded newspaper. "Why are you reading this piece of shite?"

One could pinpoint when exactly Hermione Granger's hatred for the Daily Prophet was spurned. It was during her fourth year in Hogwarts when she became the target of false journalism. It increased the following year when Harry was subjected to the cruelty of biased reporting. People deserved to know the truth. And that's what she was going to give them.

And give them she did.

Wizard Ink. Five years in publication and had just recently enjoyed international circulation. Hermione's brainchild was now a fierce rival to the Daily Prophet.

Which Draco still continued to read. 

"To royally piss you off, my dearest."

"It's bloody well working."

"The shade of lime green Popsicles suit you quite nicely." Draco grinned and reached up to push his glasses higher on the bridge of his nose. His reading glasses had slid down the bridge of his nose and the pale afternoon sunlight flickered off of them in soothing manner. However, Hermione's hand came flying out of thin out and snatched the silver frames right from his nose.

"Hey! Watch it!" Draco said, trying to reach for them, although none too valiantly. "I'll have you know that that pair was custom-made for me in Italy to fit to the elegant contours of my face."

The look she shot him tried his control in staring back at her innocently. "What?" he asked defensively. "I'm… delicate."

And the glasses made their way back onto their original perch, but not without a good load of smirking.

"Well, I'm off," Hermione announced, pushing away from Draco's desk. "I really ought to get ready for the party." The look on her face made it clear that the term party was used very loosely.

"I'll pick you up at eight."

"How about you pick me up at eleven? We get pissed until we can't tell left from right and I embarrass my mother into never talking to me again?"

Draco considered this for a moment, as indeed, the offer was terribly tempting. "Make that seven thirty."

Nothing says "I'll see you later" like a good smack upside the head.

~~

I was around thirteen or fourteen when I discovered the finer points of liquor. And I'm not talking about butterbeer—that's for pansy-arsed drinkers—but hard liquor that just gets you humming.

There's something about the way it runs down your throat. The searing sensation, burning a path, defining every curve and bump in your insides, making you feel places you never thought you had.

Yes, I'm dramatic. Thank you very much for noticing.

~~

Draco looked on amusedly as Hermione stomped her feet against her parents' porch to ward off the cold. Or so she would have everyone think.

"I don't know, Hermione," he drawled lazily. "I don't think you're parents are going to think that you _are_ suffering from hypothermia and pass up the party."

She sighed and leaned her head against the imposing front door of the Granger household that was being weighed down by a spectacular amount of holly, golden bells and oddly-shaped reindeer. Well, at least that's what Draco thought they were.

"I'll count to three and I'll ring the doorbell," she whispered in promise to both of them. Hermione held her finger up in preparation. "One… Two… Three…"

Draco turned to Hermione expectantly.

"Four… Five… Six"

Draco sighed. And sighed nineteen times more before Hermione finally decided to ring it.

"Hermione! Darling! What took you so long?"

Christopher Granger was a jolly man. Honestly. Draco had never called anyone jolly before meeting Hermione's father and now, it was the only adjective he could use to describe him. Content, satisfied, happy… yes, those were other words he could easily associate with him, but jolly fit the most.

"Hello, Draco!"

And he was a bit loud, too.

Draco grinned and reached out in a firm handshake. "Merry Christmas, Mr. Granger," he returned as he was quickly ushered into the inviting living room that was welcomingly lighted with various vanilla scented candles and candles shaped like apples. There were about close thirty people milling around bearing glasses of champagne and eggnog and conversation was either laughed out loudly or whispered softly.

"Really, Draco," Hermione's father said, with a big grin on his face. "Haven't I told you about a million times already to call me Christopher?"

Draco grinned in answer. "Yes, you have Mr. Granger."

Suddenly, Hermione's hand latched on to his arm and Draco could feel her fingernails slowly begin to dig into his flesh.

"Ooh, Hermione! There you are!" Mrs. Granger exclaimed from across the room. "And you've brought Draco, too!" She looked at the two new arrivals appraisingly, in such a way that made Draco feel like he was a fat turkey being inspected for purchase.

"Well, I'm glad you're here now," Hermione's mother continued after reaching out and straightening Draco's tie. "Because there's someone here I'd like for you to meet, Hermione. He's a dentist, too."

Kiss of death.

"His name is Montgomery Prewitt."

A mouthful of a bloody name.

"And I'm sure that you'll absolutely take to him."

Like mold to a bathroom floor tile.

"Really, Dianne. You should really stop pushing those blokes in Hermione's direction," Mr. Granger but in, forcing glasses of eggnog into unwilling hands. "She's old enough to know what she's doing. No spoon-feeding required."

"I am not pushing anyone into anyone's direction!"

Christopher Granger gave a loud guffaw. "Right and do you pay rent for that little corner in Denial that you so love to dwell in?"

Indignant looks were exchanged and Hermione quickly ushered Draco into the spotless kitchen.

"I can't believe my mum!" Hermione cried in frustrated, all the while slamming drawers open and shut. "Honestly. I'm tempted enough to marry the first the man that walks through those doors, shag him like crazy, pop out a babe, give it to my parents and live the rest of my life in miserable seclusion." She turned around and snatched away Draco's glass just as he was about to bring it to his lips. "And I saw Uncle Frank out there. That means copious amounts of liquor in any served beverage. I'll bet there's liquor in the liquor."

Draco watched as the white liquid was promptly disposed of via sink. "Fun," he mused and turned his attention to the appetizer platters on the kitchen table. "Why can't you just enjoy the party? You know, like a normal person. Or are you not capable of acting like that? You know, normal."

He took Hermione's hand and led her to one of the kitchen seats. "Hey, look. Salmon." He held up the tiny canapé in front of Hermione and jiggled it a bit in an attempt to make it seem more appetizing.

"That's very unsanitary, you know."

Draco popped the _hors d'oeuvre_ into his mouth with a grin. "Well, so is your hair floating around in the dipping sauce."

There is nothing sadder or more pathetic than when a joke is not laughed at.

"Draco!" Hermione groaned, covering her face with her hands.

"She   
May be the face I can't forget   
The trace of pleasure or regret   
May be my treasure or the price I have to pay"

For some reason unknown to Draco, Hermione thought that music was making everything worse.

Mrs. Granger strode through the kitchen doors with an agitated look on her face. "You're father's drunk, Hermione, because your Uncle Frank has squishy oranges for brains. And your father has the microphone plugged in." She went through the kitchen cabinets just as her daughter had just done only moments ago. "After I kill your Uncle Frank, can the two of you be your lovely selves at serve the guests?" she finished, holding up a meat cleaver in her hand and a triumphant look on her face. "I needed fertilizer for my rose garden anyway…"

With a resigned sigh, Hermione plucked the axe out of her mother's hand and pushed her out door. "Don't worry, mum. I'll take care of Uncle Frank."

"She   
May be the beauty or the beast   
May be the famine or the feast   
May turn each day into a heaven or a hell   
She may be the mirror of my dreams   
The smile reflected in a stream   
She may not be what she may seem   
Inside her shell"

"That's a pretty good song, actually," Draco told her before getting hauled back into the living room.

Draco had never met Uncle Frank before. He had met Aunt Josie who liked to wipe the silvers with the sleeve of her shirt, just to make sure that they were clean. And even Hermione's cousin Jeremiah. Jeremiah was a traveler. Or at least, that's what everyone in the family called him to avoid actually calling him a bum, as that what he really was. But he pretty much lived off everyone he knew and oddly enough—no one seemed to mind. Draco supposed that it was because Jeremiah was a pleasant person, despite his lacking in motivation. And Uncle Andrew…who was "confused." What Uncle Andrew was "confused" about, seemed to confuse everyone else.

Because of these… well, not _weird_, but unique characters in the Granger family, Draco decided to brace himself for the worse.

It was a good thing that he did, too.

Uncle Frank was… an original. For someone… someone was obviously stuck in a different decade. The sixties.

Draco didn't know whether or not he should laugh at the obviously inebriated man spread out on the Granger's settee. It was like a rainbow of swirls vomited on the blue and white silk sofa and he wasn't sure if he could stand there with a straight face for a minute longer. It looked like the rest of the partygoers were similarly conflicted.

Hermione leaned down and took Uncle Frank's ear firmly in her hand before twisting it. Clockwise, Draco took note.

"Ow! What the—"

A pair of disoriented grey eyes surveyed his surroundings for a moment in wonder. "What the bleeding hell is going on, Michael?" Uncle Frank held on to Hermione's shoulder and shook it. "Michael, go get me a brandy and go put some brandy in it. And a bit of scotch if you have it."

"Uncle Frank, it's me, Hermione—"

"Hermione!" Uncle Frank exclaimed, pulling Hermione into a bear hug. "I haven't seen you since. Well, since… I really don't know."

Hermione sighed and gestured to Draco to help her drag her uncle to his feet.

"Last week, Uncle Frank." Hermione gave a soft grunt in exertion from yanking a load twice her size. "Remember? I went over to your house for Aunt Elisabeth's biscuits and you and Uncle Samuel were fighting over Rugby?"

Draco fought about a snarky reply to Muggle sports—one of the things he wasn't able to acquire a taste for—and successfully heaved Uncle Frank to his feet.

"Who are you? Where are we going?"

Draco pasted a fake smile on his face. One to designed to placate mothers and steal breaths… it was an art. "I'm Draco Malfoy, Hermione's friend," he informed the older man in the tone he normally used when dealing with people who could be annoying if not handled carefully. "And we are going to the kitchen."

"Where the sink and the meat cleaver are," Hermione muttered beside him.

_"__She  
May be the reason I survive  
The why and wherefore I'm alive  
The one I'll care for through the rough in ready years   
Me  
I'll take her laughter and her tears  
And make them all my souvenirs  
For where she goes I've got to be  
The meaning of my life is she"_

"Oh, bloody good song, brother-in-law!" Uncle Frank said enthusiastically. "We _must_ sing something together now, shall we?"

As if dealing with one drunken person wasn't difficult enough…

"You must remember this   
A kiss is still a kiss   
A sigh is just a sigh   
The fundamental things apply   
As time goes by"

However, the look on the face of Hermione's mother made it worth it. 

"Oh, look, you two, mistletoe."

Draco and Hermione looked up at the same time and sure enough, there it was. Mistletoe. Right above their heads. All of a sudden they felt like tiny pawns in a game of gods who were placing bets on them, their strength, their will, their control… Who will snap first? Who will be the first to throw their hands up in frustration? Who will turn on their heel and run out of the room screaming?

Draco looked down at Hermione who was glaring at her father for having brought such a frivolous thing to their attention.

"Well?" Uncle Frank drawled out, swaying a bit dangerously on his feet.

"Moonlight and love songs—never out of date   
Hearts full of passion—jealously and hate   
Woman needs man—and man must have his mate   
That no one can deny"

Draco put his finger underneath her chin and tilted her face towards hers. The surprised look on Hermione's face made him smile. "Tradition, you know."

"Hmm, yes," she murmured. "Where would we be without tradition?"

He leaned down slowly and gently brushed his lips against hers. Draco quickly caught himself before he could let out an astonished gasp at the warmth that radiated from them and pulled away.

"Certainly not here."

Hermione smiled. "Certainly not."

"Happy Christmas everyone!" Uncle Frank exclaimed before bending down suddenly.

The Grangers' rug will never be the same again.

~~

Pansy once asked me what my best Christmas was like. I didn't answer her.

It wasn't because I didn't have a best Christmas to speak of, but rather I couldn't choose. Could it be the days when I believed in Santa? When Christmas would come and find all that I had wished for sitting underneath the large Christmas tree like gleaming diamonds?

Or perhaps the times when I realised that Santa didn't exist? When I had unwittingly found out that whether or not I was good—I would always get what I wanted.

I wanted many things. They were given to me. From my mother, my father…

My father.

I want so many things.

Sometimes, I wish that I still believed in Santa.

**Author's Notes:**

I am dreadfully sorry for the delay in this chapter. I redid it thrice and I went on a short out of town trip. The trip, however, has recuperated my inspiration immeasurably and I already have parts of the _last chapter_ written. There aren't that many chapters. Even a dozen chapters may seem a stretch as—let's face—I may be evil with drawing things out, but I'm not a sadist to be sure. Besides, I want to find out what happens to the couple, too! ^__^ Be ready for sap. There is much sap. And much Draco. Much, much Draco with sweet words designed to steal your heart.

**This chapter:** I love family. Mine is kooky. Very much so. And thus Hermione's family. Upon writing out that short banter between Mr. and Mrs. Granger, it occurred to me that they represent a sort of "older" version to Draco and Hermione.

I know that in Steep I had Hermione fashioned out as a journalist. It just seems to fit her personality to the tee. Highly opinionated, methodical, thorough, and a good deal of self-righteousness that could either work for her or against her. So no, I didn't run out of any ideas, I just think that it would be the logical career choice for Hermione. Ok, fine. So maybe I did find myself lacking in ideas. A little.

**Next chapter:** Narcissa Malfoy.A revelation. A New Year. Ugh. A little too late for that, I know .

**On another note:** I have been told not to pull Steep as it would be wise to keep an online copy just in case. I'm not sure what "just in case" means, but I'm shallow enough to accept that as a good enough reason. **However**, I will still not be updating it anytime soon. Sorry.

I've finally created a livejournal dedicated to my Draco/Hermione love, but there's not much on it. ^__^ It can be found here:   Go ahead and friend it and I'll friend you right back. And if you don't have an LJ, go get one! ^__^ You no longer need a code!

**Special Thanks To:  
Campy Capybara** for her lovely suggestion of eyewear. Funny thing about that, I had already written out that scene of him reading before you reviewed and I must say, it's a superb addition.  
**moefodraco** for suggesting the lime green Popsicle. Much appreciated ^__^  
**Jade Shintz** because your suggestion made me laugh the moment I read it! Squishy oranges! A must! Shall use this one again. Definitely!  
**Shedraconis **for thevanilla scented candles. I'll also be adding this in another chapter ^__~ For a more romantic setting. 

*pissed = drunk

REVIEWS! SO MANY! I LOVE THEM LIKE THE CHILDREN I NEVER HAD! PERHAPS THE CAPS LOCK DID WORK! **SHALL TRY SOMETHING DIFFERENT. MY LOVE FOR YOU IS ALL CAPS AND BOLD.**

^__^ Please leave me reviews. I am an attention seeking whore and need reviews to reaffirm my existence. Actually, they just make me happy and a good deal giggly. ^__^


	6. Chapter Five: New You

Disclaimer: All recognizable characters belong to J.K. Rowling. *sigh* Disclaimers are so depressing.

New Year…

I have ambiguous feelings towards that holiday. I can't decide whether or not I like it.

It urges you to reflect on the past, one that might not always be pleasant or one that might not lend to your sense of pride…

Then, you find that you've lost even before you begin. What's the good in that?

~~

Draco held on to the table with all his might while trying to fight off the cringe that was slowly settling on his face.

"Perhaps we shouldn't have done that?"

"Perhaps," Draco spat and quickly drew in a sharp breath. "I need to _sit_."

Hermione nodded understanding and took hold of his arm, leading him to a nearby table. "I told you not to, you know," she scolded lightly. "I don't know what made you think you could drink him 'under the table' or whatever you call it."

Draco sighed. He wasn't going to bother explaining the ego of a man to Hermione. Lest, he wanted for her to hex his loins into oblivion—something she was very liable to do.

In Draco's humblest opinion, men had smaller egos than women. Honestly. In comparison to men, women always felt like they had to fight for something—whether it be sexuality, equality or whatever—there was always something. Anything could be misconstrued into an insult and given some sort of malicious undertone.

With men, however, it was different. There were only a few things that they held onto. Pride, was one of them. You see, pride and masculinity come together hand in hand. You cannot have one without the other. You cannot _enjoy_ one without the other.

And when some stupid bloke looks up your friend like piece of carcass on a hot sizzling plate you cannot help but feel the need to defend both.

Can you? _Can you? CAN YOU?_

Draco closed his eyes to keep the surroundings from slurring into some discombobulating array of colours that didn't seem to meet…

He wobbled a bit on his feet and was almost certain that he would fall flat on his face had someone, presumably Hermione, pulled him by the lapels of his shirt and steadied him.

_Iasd asjhdjfh jhb okhin bvasy_

What?

Opening his eyes, it seemed to Draco that Hermione was telling him something. Yes, that part he could understand. But what the hell was she saying? It was a lot gib… gibber… gibberish… a lot of gibberish.

…_don't you think?_

"What do I think?" he asked loudly, unaware of the volume of his voice. "What ta hell are you talkin' 'bout, 'Ermione?"

Even his own words seemed somewhat odd to him. Actually, he sounded a bit like Hagrid from Hogwarts. Not to mention his tongue was currently feeling twice it's normal size and it appeared that Hermione was holding a small blue elephant in her hand.

Draco shook his head and willed the dizziness away.

"Wot…" His normally superlative diction warbled uncertainly. "Is that?" He pointed a shaky finger at her hand and her small blue elephant. No, it was a glass. Of blue liquid stuff that reminded Draco of the blood of those whatsits…

"Looks sort of like blue juice, eh? It's called an Illusion Shaker and the blue curacao makes it that colour," Hermione told him.

In slow motion. Which made Draco blink. Several times. And caused both his head and stomach to take a nosedive into the deep abyss that was… unconsciousness.

When he finally did came to, Draco found himself flat on his back staring at a blanket of stars.

"Glad to see you're up," a low sultry voice whispered in his ear.

Draco turned to the voice, a ready smile on his face.

_Gah!_

"Tim!" Draco exclaimed, jumping to his feet, which gave him a quick zing to his brain. He winced as he tried not to stare at Tim, who was sporting a neon blue wig on his head and a short vinyl number that was entirely too tight and short and _wrong_. "Where… Where's Hermione?" he sputtered, trying his best not to insert obscenities in between words.

Tim sighed and flipped his blue hair over his shoulder. "_Honestly_, you were so much _nicer_ when you were _pissed_," he informed Draco with a smirk.

Draco shuddered at the thought of what exactly "nicer" meant. "Where's—"

"_Hermione's_ over _there_," Tim interrupted, his finger pointed to his left. He sighed again and shook his head. "_Well?_ Go on. Attach _yourselves_ at the hip _again_. Merlin _knows_ you probably forget to _breathe_ when she's not around."

Draco ignored Tim's implication and went off in search of that damnable Hermione Granger who left him in the care of someone who looked right about ready to pounce on his person.

Not that there was anything wrong with homosexuals. Nothing at all. But he didn't prefer anyone of any sex pouncing on his person without his permission.

That sort of rhymed.

They were on a roof of some sort, Draco finally deduced while walking stupidly around. And judging from the accent of the people milling around him, he was obviously on a roof in America.

Why the _hell_ was he in America? And where the _hell_ was Hermione?

The 'party animal' was found in the middle of a small crowd giving body shots. Draco held on to a railing of some sort to keep from keeling over in surprise.

Hermione Granger was giving—_giving, not taking_—body shots to a group of people that she didn't know. At least, he didn't think she knew them. And neither did he think that she knew what she was doing for she was currently sans her shirt and shoes, standing in the snow with only her black brassiere on, her velvet skirt and black holey stockings.

Although the blackmail potential of recent events were tugging at Draco's inner Slytherin, he pocketed his grin, let go of the railing, took several deep breaths and pushed his way deeper into the crowd.

"Hermione?" he said hesitantly when he reached her. "Where's your shirt?"

She turned to Draco slowly; her eyes wide as if in quiet adoration of something he couldn't quite figure out but was amused by, nonetheless.

"Would you like one?"

"What? A body shot?"

"Yes."

Draco sighed and shrugged out of his coat and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"Come on, you party animal you," he told her in a somewhat pained voice. "Let's get with the walking so you can sober up some and then I can get mad at you properly for having left me to fend for myself against your currently blue-haired assistant editor."

Draco pushed Hermione through the throngs of disappointed (and mostly male) spectators and quickly spotting a secluded alcove nearby, lead her there.

She, on the other hand, was staring at her hands as if she didn't know what she was supposed to do with them.

When the tables turn on Draco Malfoy, they turn in the most horrible of circumstances.

"Malfoy… I have three arms."

Draco sighed while sitting her down on an upturned crate. "Yeah… drunkenness can give you extra limbs."

"Extra everything!" Hermione exclaimed enthusiastically. Her hand shot up to her head and two fingers pressed against her temple. "Ow…"

It was on the tip of his tongue to reprimand Hermione for having gotten pissed—had he not remembered his own drunken state a few hours ago. Instead Draco sat down beside her and took her hand in his.

"Happy New Year, Hermione."

"Why did you…" _hic _"Hate—" _hic_ "Me so much in Hogwarts?"

She wasn't supposed to say that! She was supposed to say, "Happy New Year, Draco" or "I certainly hope it will be happy" along with her trademark sigh. Just something else entirely, anything else except that one question that they had silently and mutually vowed to never ask.

There was only one thing left to do. Or say.

"Happy New Year, Hermione," he tried again.

Hermione's eyes narrowed as she turned to him. "I may be drunk…" _hic_ "But I'm—" _hic_ "certainly not stupid."

"All right…" Draco replied, hoping to placate her. "Let's see… Why did I hate Hermione Granger in Hogwarts?"

She gasped and slapped his arm. "You mean you _did_ hate me in Hogwarts? _You truly hated me?_" Hermione began hyperventilating then, and an odd shade of blue began to tinge her cheeks. "All this time I thought that you merely some sort of… of…"

"Misunderstood… entirely-too-handsome-for-his-own-good school boy?"

She nodded hastily. "Yes, _misunderstood_ and… a very… stupid… prat," Hermione pronounced lamely.

And with that, she stood up. After which, she quickly sat down. Perhaps drunkenness did have its perks.

"There is no way to make you understand what I was back then," Draco said quietly. "I don't think that even I understand until now. There was a time when I thought that I could blame it on other people. My father, my family in general, my housemates… But the truth of the matter is that, yes, I was stupid. Besides, what would life have been had I not provided you and your group of friends with my trademark 'angst?'" It was obvious, that he should have stopped while he was ahead. But that is not the way of the Malfoy. The Malfoy simply does not know when to stop. "Now that I think about it, my… my shortcomings helped you realise how lucky you were that you had your friends and your—"

At that moment someone bearing bottles of beer chose to pass them. Draco graciously accepted all but one of them, while a still glaring Hermione not as graciously declined.

"That's a bunch of poetic bollocks," Hermione grunted and Draco could feel her watching him take a swig his beer from the corner of her eye. He could tell the effects of the alcohol were slowly wearing away. Pity.

Draco shrugged. "And I forgot to ask. What the fuck are we doing in America?"

"You missed the New Year back in England, so Tim suggested that we go here so we could have New Year's all over again."

Hermione reached over and grabbed one of bottles of beer. "Now, I'm thinking that you don't deserve it," she added haughtily.

He was on bottle number six when he finally answered. "I don't deserve anything, I think," Draco mumbled. He closed his eyes, slowly feeling the buzz of the alcohol beginning to numb his senses.

It took a few moments to realise that Hermione was slumped up against the side of nook they were staying in, her breathing deep and even, her eyes closed in dreamless sleep.

Indeed, the irony is thick.

In the distance he could hear people cheering loudly. The New Year has come and was being enthusiastically greeted with loud whoops and tooting horns.

A new year… Draco smiled.

It was going to be a good year, he knew. There was so much to be thankful for.

He drained his sixth beer and grabbed the seventh and last of beer. Pissed twice in one night? That was something to be happy for certainly. He was making money. Lots of. Another thing to be thankful for. Also, he was a healthy, virile man, yes that's something to be thankful for as well.

And he had friends.

Draco looked at Hermione. Or at least he had one true friend.

A bit drunkenly he leaned over her and whispered in her ear, "Happy New Year." He was about to pull away when he noticed her lips, red and parted.

Draco reached out his hand, and as delicately as he could manage, he pressed the soft flesh against the pad of his thumb, tracing it gently. He closed his eyes in a moment of contemplation and lightheadedness.

"You're like… the love of my life that I never had."

Had he opened his eyes at that moment instead of giving in to the welcoming beginnings of slumber—he would have seen a pair surprised brown eyes looking at him. 

~~

They say that the only constant thing in life is change. I think about that often—of how much I've changed so far.

I've changed a lot. So much that when I look back on the person that I was… it's not a memory anymore. It's as if looking at a stranger.

And so I sometimes wonder who I am exactly. Is what I am what I was meant to be?

Am I the person I want to be?

~~

Draco surveyed the bleak surroundings with a sigh. If Malfoy Manor was already bleak and intimidating, it was more so during the winter. The gardens with their barren soil and snow reminded him too much of a graveyard and the thought sent chills down his spine.

"So kind of you to visit your mother."

Draco turned to the source of the voice and smiled. "I know. I'm nothing but kind," he drawled and held out his hand.

Narcissa Malfoy scoffed before taking her son's hand and being led to the conservatory where their tea was waiting.

"I thought you weren't coming," she whispered softly, and Draco could see her eyes were trained on where her roses once bloomed.

He cleared his throat guiltily. "I know I haven't been by lately," Draco began, averting his gaze. "Work has been keeping me busy and I—"

"I understand," she interrupted in that brusque tone of hers that reminded Draco so much of his childhood, jars filled to the brim with the most delicious biscuits and digging in the patch of brightly coloured tulips.

Draco tried to shrug off the uneasiness, though in the back of his mind he knew that it would be impossible. His mother did understand, he knew. However, she understood a little _too_ well.

He had left things behind he hoped he would never have to face again. Memories of past that haunted him enough without having to take the time to reminisce. Draco knew that his mother was aware of this, too and no amount of reasons or excuses would ever take away that fact.

He wished he had brought Hermione along, but that idea was quickly dismissed. He couldn't understand why he hadn't told his mother about Hermione. After all, how hard was it to say the words, "Mother, this is my friend Hermione Granger. Remember her? We used to be mortal enemies during our time in Hogwarts. Fairly tormented each other, we did."

Somehow, that seemed a little bit off.

Draco opened the door to the Conservatory and waited as his mother passed to enter before doing so himself.

She was still wearing the same perfume, he noted and it brought a slight smile to his lips.

As the Malfoy Mansion was austere and cold, the Conservatory was its exact opposite. It had not always been there, as the Malfoy women were not known to go digging up the soil. The gardens had primarily been tall bushes and shrubs as well as select topiaries (that were, essentially, also bushes in shrubs—only in pots) that were pristinely maintained with maddening precision.

His mother, however, had brought with her roses and tulips and mums and exotic flowers whose names escaped him at the moment. At some point in his youth, his mother had allotted a small plot of soil for him where grew dandelions that he could pluck at whim and blow with all his might.

Draco was smiling while he led his mother to the tea that was awaiting them in the middle of what might have been a million hydrangeas—his mother's favourite flower.

"How was your New Year?"

So they were back to idle small talk. Usually common between two almost strangers, and only present between two family members when the situation might prove to be awkward and a device to ensure non-silence.

Draco didn't appreciate it, although he knew better than to venture the topic. Instead, he cleared his throat. "I, er…" He paused to pull the seat out for his mother and pushed it back in as soon as she was settled. "I spent it with Her—" He quickly caught himself. "I spent it with some friends."

"And you got drunk?"

There was something difficult with his mother… or perhaps all mothers. Rhetorical questions were none existent. Which was a very tricky thing. They appear to be rhetorical questions and yet, and _yet_ they still demanded answers.

"I…" Draco took the time to sit in his seat with studied meticulousness. "Well, yes."

Another problem is that there never seems to be a right answer.

Narcissa raised an eyebrow questioningly—almost challengingly. "You would rather spend the New Year's as some sort of sodden blithering idiot than be with your mother?"

_A sodden blithering idiot?_

His mother was never one for mincing words.

"Well, er…" Draco cleared his throat and smiled wryly. "There's no winning with you, is there, mother?"

There was a bit of movement along the stern lips that belonged to Narcissa Malfoy, which might, quite surprisingly, count as a smile. Though he couldn't be too sure. She didn't smile too often. Draco couldn't blame her. She hadn't a lot to smile about, especially now…

"You should do that more often."

His mother's eyes flickered downward. "What? Pour tea? I try… it's bothersome having to wait around for the house elves to do it."

"No." He shook his head in an attempt to shake out the amusement. "You should try to smile more often."

"What do you think I have house elves for?" she snapped at him.

Draco fairly goggled at his mother in unhidden astonishment. "You see," he explained. "I would laugh, but you would probably kill me."

"I would never do such a thing. That's another thing for the house elves to do."

He watched his mother place a few things on his plate. Some sort of pastry, two sorts of pastry, what looked like a stuffed mushroom and an artichoke and salmon and…

"You know that I hate artichokes!"

His mother shot him a wry look. "Oh really? My my," she murmured, bringing her teacup to her lips. "One would think that one had it specifically put there on purpose. How utterly horrid."

Fighting back the urge to fling the offending vegetable toward the hibiscus, Draco gritted his teeth and proceeded to drink his tea. Perhaps he just might get through this ordeal without any scars.

"Yesterday, I was walking around in Diagon Alley and who do you think I ran into?"

Oh will someone have mercy on his soul?

"I, er… I don't know."

And he hoped he never would.

"Mrs. Parkinson and her lovely daughter, Pansy."

A hope short lived.

Draco hadn't seen Pansy in… a very long time. They hadn't been buddy-buddy during Hogwarts, contrary to what other people thought. Both he and Pansy were spoiled brats and the limelight was usually fought over instead of being shared. Sure, there had been a few unsolicited kisses in between—but  when geography and hormones are working against you, you haven't a chance in heaven. Or hell.

By the time he had "returned" to the Wizarding world, many of his old schoolmates had decided to not renew acquaintances. Draco couldn't blame them. During the war, you were either on one side or the other. Those who took the in between were automatically labeled as traitors. Those who ran away were considered worthless. He would have probably done the same had he been in their position. But not once did he ever regret his decision.

"Pansy's not married, did you know?" His mother stated simply. However, nothing was ever simple. Or innocent. Or without desire to have her son married and producing bouncing babies with blue eyes and blonde hair and high-pitched laughter that could fill the air with joy.

A rich dream, really, but merely a dream.

"Pansy isn't the marrying type." The salmon suddenly tasted like moist cardboard in Draco's mouth.

The elder Malfoy quirked an inquiring brow. "What sort of type is she?"

"I don't think I'll be able to answer that question with a straight face and still maintain this delightfully civil conversation with you," Draco hastily answered, cutting up pastry that shouldn't be cut. "Besides, _I'm_ not the marrying type, either, mother. So may we just toss out the topic and leave it for dead?"

Unfortunately, beating dead horses was Narcissa Malfoy's favourite sport. Figuratively speaking, though, of course.

"And what sort of type are you?"

Draco looked at his mother. He had intended to snap at her for her incessant and disagreeable questions, but he finally understood that perhaps, he had brought about it himself. He had pushed her away, along with the past and that, in itself was an inhuman act.

Unforgivable.

"I…" He clenched and unclenched his jaw a few times before continuing. "I'm a…worthless son."

Through his slightly blurring vision he could see his mother shake her head slowly, a true smile gradually dawning on her face.

"And what would a worthy son have done?" she asked him gently. "Fight a war he didn't understand? Risk his life for things that didn't make sense?" She reached her hand forward and touched his palm. "You left. But leaving took more courage than staying. And coming back? Even more so. I just…"

Draco bit his lip tentatively. "What?" he asked softly. "You what?"

"I just wish I had come along."

In two long strides, Draco pulled his mother into a tight hug. "You did," he whispered fiercely, his heart tightening. "You were always with me."

~~

And so another year begins. We wipe the slate clean. We start anew. We learn from the past and we look forward to the future.

This is what I hope: To live.

For I don't think I've lived enough, so I'll certainly try.

**Author's Notes:**

It's been brought to my attention that the URL didn't show in the last chapter. I am forever your faithful klutz. ^__^ The url is http ://www.livejournal. com/users/1000_sorrows/ (but take out the spaces). Ok. Embarrassing moment has passed. Must breathe and return to normal colour. ^O^

**This Chapter:** I mention alcohol waaaay too often, don't I? But it's New Year's! There must be alcohol! Lots of! Besides, I need a device to loosen Draco's tongue a little and it was much too convenient to pass up.

Draco. I wanted him to say the words or at least hint of his growing feelings, however, not have him aware of them yet and effectively placing the ball in Hermione's court. Yes, those were her surprised brown eyes.

Waaah. Hermione. Do something. *pokes character with toothpicks in a loving, affectionate manner*

Narcissa Malfoy. My love for the Malfoys is deep and true. Thou shall not question it. ^__^ I wanted to create one of those society matrons who weren't as superficial as they seemed and had a lot of hidden emotions.

*huggles all her OCs* Aren't they just _wonderful?_

**Next Chapter:** Valentines Day. Mmmm ^__~ Some fluff… and something unexpected—that you may very well hate me for.

Valentines Day is coming up ^__^ I'll see what I can scrape up for that since I've been just challenged to write something with only one specification: Harry and Ron as cupids. O_o Wish me luck!

**Special Thanks:**

**RebelRikki** I didn't forget the blue juice! ^__^ I had thought it better in this chapter than in the last. Hee!

**Mooncroww** for the stuffed mushrooms. I haven't the faintest clue what they look like, though. ^__^;;;

REVIEW PLEASE!!! ^__^ 


	7. Chapter Six: Point A to B

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters belong to J.K. Rowling. All others belong to me.

* * *

Just because you're along doesn't mean that you're lonely. Like that one? Yeah, I like how it makes me sound all intellectual. Unfortunately, just because I sound like I know everything doesn't mean that I actually do.

Damn this logic.

* * *

Hermione's living room was slowly flooding up. With tears. It wasn't very pretty.

"So this is how you spend your Friday nights? Bawling in front of your television screen, crying your heart out for fictional characters who fall in love and take forever to realise that they're meant for each other?"

Draco smiled when he became recipient to one of her infamous deathly glares. Merlin, if it weren't this fun to get her ire up, he would have stopped years ago. She just had too much fire for her own good.

"It's a romantic film. It's designed to make people—mainly women—cry," she informed him, eyes still narrowed in irritation. He wondered at her ability to still sound condescending while blowing her nose into several wads of tissue paper.

Or perhaps all women were like this?

He fairly shuddered at the thought.

Draco had thought to take her out to dinner that night. He heard of this Indian restaurant from one of his designers at work and decided to try it out with Hermione. However, what should meet his dismay but a slobbering woman?

He felt a bit foolish to have been alarmed upon first settling his eyes on her. Now, though, he wanted to wring her neck. Lovingly.

Sitting down on the tissue-crowded settee, he instinctively pulled her closer to him and placed his arm about her back to let her lay her head comfortably on his shoulder. He sighed a little at the death of his plans and turned his attention to the movie playing before them.

"What are we watching?"

"Sleepless in Seattle," she replied between hiccups.

"Oh, right, of course," Of course, he didn't really know what the bloody film was about.

Either way, insomnia in some other part of the world would not spell romance for him.

"When do they get to the shagging?"

"Shut the gob up, Malfoy!" she exclaimed, looking thoroughly incensed and lifting an elbow to his face menacingly. "I'm trying to enjoy the movie."

Apparently, she thought that to be threatening. Gryffindors.

_And all I could say was, "hello."_

As if the puddle of tears at their feet wasn't deep enough, Hermione started up once again with the waterworks.

"I love that movie, too," she cried, grabbing desperately at the used tissues on her lap. She mopped up the newly sprung tears from her eyes as well as the ones immediately following. "Have you ever watched that movie? An Affair to Remember? Cary Grant and Deborah Kerr? And Cary Grant's character says the most beautiful line... he says..."

Draco raised his eyebrows when her voice took on an overly dramatic tone. What was it about women and love?

"There must be something between us, even if it's only an ocean," Hermione finished wistfully.

"Oh," he replied, trying his best to look interested but failing miserably. She didn't seem to notice, though. Or care.

_Now that was when people knew how to be in love. They knew it! Time distance... nothing could separate them because they knew. It was right. It was real. It was..._

_A movie! That's your problem! You don't want to be in love. You want to be in love in a movie._

Hermione scoffed loudly followed shortly by a loud harrumph that conveyed perfectly her obvious annoyance. "What's so bad about that? What's so bad about wanting that?" she asked him, her gaze still steadily fixed on the television screen. "I want to be in love in a movie. Because even if everything imaginable can go wrong from point A to point B... you still get to point B. You still get your happily ever after wrapped up in a white... shantung silk wedding gown and peach roses on a seven-tiered cake."

Oh, the female dream.

"I thought you didn't want to get married?" Draco pointed out. And pointed out a bit too off-handedly for Hermione's tastes as it earned him both a glare and a scowl. "What?" he began defensively, "weren't you the one who called marriage just another financial institution, just another barbaric custom designed to make us conform to society?"

"I was bitter!"

"You _are_ bitter, sweetheart."

Honestly, he was beginning to think that he actually enjoyed pain the way he was practically asking to be hurt. Kinky. Perverted thoughts aside, though...

"So you want to get married now?" he clarified slowly. "Did I get that right? Why the sudden change of heart?"

Apparently, she didn't know the answer to that question either—which accounted nicely for the peaceful silence interrupted only by some timely background music. Or she could just be gathering fundamental thoughts needed to form a coherent answer. He preferred to believe in the former, though it was probably the latter that was true.

"Gertrude's getting married," she answered simply.

Draco wasn't sure if he was supposed to understand that statement. He didn't even know who Gertrude was to begin with...

"She's my cousin. She's like... the younger version of Harry's Aunt Petunia."

No. Still not understanding...

"She looks like some sort of cross between a horse and a human, has the finesse of an elephant, the laugh of a hyena, the grace of a cow, as engaging as sabretooth tiger and the manners of a goat."

"And she's getting married," he added.

"And she's getting married," she echoed. "I don't understand. Aren't I a good person? I'm a good person!"

When one's friend is standing at the brink of insanity, the loyal thing to do is just to agree with whatever they say. It doesn't really matter if they're wrong or right. What matters is... it isn't your fault.

"You're a great person. A superb, one-of-a-kind, really, really, _really_ good person," he replied emphatically.

He really shouldn't have been so enthusiastic. It was catching.

"Right!" she exclaimed loudly and Draco half expected her to start pumping her fist in the air. "And I'm intelligent and young and I'm a downright sexual being. I ooze femininity and all that comes with it."

He was far too kind to point out the fact that everything that comes with femininity wasn't necessarily good. It had crossed his mind to mention it, though. See how much he had changed over the years? He was a paradigm of compassion.

"Of course you are, sweetheart. You ooze a lot of things."

There was obviously something wrong in that statement, but thankfully, Hermione didn't seem to notice.

"Precisely," she muttered as she reached for the remote control and Draco watched the television screen suddenly go black. "Now, it's time for you to be completely honest and tell me what's wrong with me. Go ahead. I can take it. I know I'm not perfect so we might as well put it all out in the open."

Of course, he also knew that she could probably transfigure him into a lovely piece of Limburger cheese to feed to the small mice dwelling near the trashbin beside the building of her flat.

"I don't think that's a good idea, Hermione."

The beginnings of a glare were showing on the northern hemisphere of her face. Apparently, she wasn't pleased. "And why isn't it a good idea?" she asked, putting emotion into words. "Tell. Me. Now."

Draco looked at her, aghast with her vehemence. "Hermione—"

"Is it that bad?" she wailed haplessly and Draco raised a skeptical eyebrow at the slow formation of tears in her eyes. "It is, isn't it?"

"You're too impatient, Hermione Granger. That's what's wrong with you," Draco informed her testily. Pulling his arm away from her, he placed his hands on her shoulders and held her in place while looking into her eyes. "You are used to having things happen your way and having them done immediately."

"Hey!" she sputtered in quite an unladylike manner. "The Polyjuice potion in second year took over a month to brew!"

He wasn't going to ask.

"That's beside the point, love," he told her kindly. He tried to think of something to make her smile.

Honestly, he couldn't think of anything to say. Most of his words were designed to get women into his bed and if he actually got around to making them smile—it was _after_ he got them into his bed.

"God... I _am_ impatient, aren't I?"

Well, at least reality was finally sinking in.

"Let's put it this way. This is how you would pray to God: Dear God, please give me patience. Now! Now! Now! Give me patience now!"

He made her smile. Unfortunately, he also made her whack him quite painfully on the shoulder.

"I just want to fall in love, Draco. You know... head over heels in love, all that 'love at first sight' 'I loved you the moment I saw you' shite. I want to meet someone who will take me completely by surprise and sweep me off my feet."

"You just described a hurricane."

* * *

I remember walking through a small wizarding village in Southern Italy when I was around seven or eight. My parents were on their nth honeymoon and I did quite a bit of begging or—rather—throwing around a lot of toys, pounding on the floors and causing quite a racket to persuade them to bring me along. They did. They probably didn't enjoy it as much with me around, but it was a lovely trip all the same.

I like going on trips. They make you forget and sometimes they make you remember. More importantly, they're new memories unto themselves.

* * *

Times like these made Draco curse the fact that he was so bloody meticulous. If he were anywhere near intelligent, he'd be like a madman, throwing all sorts of shirts, trousers and underwear from his drawers in his haste to get packed. Instead, he was now carefully folding his clothes (as his mother taught him early on that you shouldn't use your wand for folding clothes when you're tired, unless you want it to come out looking like some sort of formal folded napkin on a dinner plate) and painstakingly arranging them into his suitcase.

Blast all to Hades for having forgotten that his trip with Hermione was today.

In about thirty minutes. So much for the supposed meticulousness.

Perhaps it had been a bad idea to have been out so long. After all, all he did was go for a walk in the wet, very wet weather of London. Which was, amazingly, pleasant enough except he came back with something that could be currently taking a piss on the living room sofa.

As if on cue, a shouted expletive was heard from an estimated fifteen feet away. Or pissing in Liam's expensive leather shoes.

"What the shite? There's a dog in the living room and he's made a loo out of my brand new coat!"

The door flew dramatically open and Liam entered the room equally dramatically. Draco had to roll his eyes. The presence of Liam Lafferty demanded that sort of reaction. And just for that reason, Draco rolled his eyes again.

"Glad to know you can spot a dog when you see one," he replied offhandedly as he resumed his packing. "Now, if you'll excuse me—which you probably won't because we've all agreed that you're a bit of a rude human being—I have more packing to do."

Liam, still as oblivious as the day he was born, sat down on the edge of Draco's bed and peered into luggage to his left. "You're leaving?" he asked as if the pieces of luggage and the motions of packing weren't enough indication, before pulling out a dark green shirt, causing it to unfold. "Isn't this mine?"

Moments with Liam were never boring. They were, however, tedious, grating and could very well push one to the brink of suicide. Or homicide. The latter was more preferable. Reaching out, Draco grabbed the shirt from his flatmate's hands and began folding it once more. "It's mine, actually," he informed the younger man tersely. "Although I can see why you may think that it's yours considering you've had it for the past _two_ months. And yes, I'm leaving."

"Where are you going? A weekend of lovin' from a hot bitch, I'll wager."

"Good God, man! Are you _leering_ at me?" Draco asked, quite exasperated at Liam who was looking at him like some sort of meat.

"No!" Liam shook his head furiously, a look of unbecoming disgust crawling onto his face. "No! Christ, no! Malfoy, you know I don't... swing that way." He made a flippy hand gesture to accompany his shocked words. "I was only... imagining, you know, a hot bitch. And lovin'. _I want hot bitch lovin_'! That's me! A lover of hot bitches!"

"If I were your mother, I'd be rolling around in my grave by now." Draco turned to gather his spare toiletries from the wicker basket Hermione had given him that was lying on top his armoire. Absolutely no point in risking the wrath of Hermione "I'm Never Late" Granger in favour of listening to the clueless ramblings of a clueless half-wit arsehole.

"Hey," Liam said slowly after a few moments' silence. "Mother isn't dead."

Draco stifled a suffering groan and emptied out the wicker basket into a small pouch. "Anyhow, I'll be gone for the weekend. I'll take it you'll survive. If you don't, hey, I'll gladly foot the bill for the funeral." He turned just in time to see Liam give his own eye-roll. "What? I'm sure your father will insist should you die of alcohol overdose because I'm not around to pry bottles from your suction-like mouth. However, in the case that you do actually survive, try not to incinerate the place." He dropped the pouch into his luggage and zipped it up, the noise filling the room. "Although, I suppose with you, fires are unavoidable. So fires that don't burn down the furniture into ashes are all right. Otherwise, I'll Evanesco your balls and have jolly time doing it."

Liam, unsurprisingly, readily agreed. Obviously, he hadn't been listening to a word Draco had said. Something Draco was certain would happen.

"And don't forget to feed the dog," he added quickly. He grabbed the paper bag that had been sitting on his desk and tossed it at Liam. "That should hold the mutt until I get back. If not, I suggest buying more as I don't think he'll think twice about lunching on your magazines stashed inside your closet."

"Hey!" Apparently, mention of pornographic material is a sure way to attain Liam's precious attention. As there is only so much to go around. "You've been going through my stuff?"

Draco shrugged indifferently before heaving his luggage onto the floor. "No, but honestly, after that leer, I'm definitely making sure that you have some opposite sex stimulation." He paused for a moment to reconsider his words. "I can't believe I just encouraged you to have sex. Merlin knows you do it enough to populate a country."

"I'm just taking on your share of work, Malfoy," Liam retorted snidely. "Seeing as you've been 'out of order' since... Wait, now. Since when exactly?" The little shite was obviously enjoying Draco's currently plight of having to endure his unwelcome attempt at conversation. "Oh, no, I _remember_... It was since you started your little relationship—"

"_Friendship_," Draco quickly clarified. If the man was going to have a go at his dignity, he should at least do it correctly. Honestly, some people are just inconsiderate.

"Right, right... _friendship._" Liam enunciated the word so much that his 'p' ended in a popping sound. And much spraying of saliva on Draco's duvet.

Heh. Duvet. Christ, that sounds poncy.

"Well, ever since you've began your friendship with a certain Miss Hermione Granger, I don't think I've seen you in actual relationship with anyone. Women practically throw themselves at you and kiss the ground you cast shadows on, so that rules out the lack of opportunity. I know you started something with that lovely piece of redhead that I caught storming out of your room one night—but that was once and quite a long time ago."

Draco stared at Liam in complete and utter surprise. He remembered that night vividly. And amazingly enough, everything that Liam had said was true. Liam Lafferty making sense? Hell should be freezing over right about now. Truthfully, though, he hadn't really been out with anyone for quite a while now. But he had been terribly busy over the pass few weeks, erm, months and there was barely enough time to engage in any sort of relationship. It required time. He didn't have the luxury of time. He had work and work caused problems and problems needed a lot of time and attention. Besides, who needs a girlfriend all the time? He had Hermi—um, he had friends. Who needs a girlfriend when you have friends?

"You were unconscious and lying in a pool of what was, presumably and hopefully, _your_ drool with a half-naked woman draped on top of you. I thought you weren't capable of recognition. I'd also throw in mental processes, but then that wouldn't surprise me or anyone for that matter."

Draco had had his fill of the conversation (actually, he'd had enough before it even began) and started for the door, suitcase in hand. He made a quick mental note to send an owl to Daniel to see to things while he was away. The younger brother has proved to be the more responsible one between the two. It wouldn't be wise to leave the fate of another living being in the hands of Liam. Liam could barely look after himself which was the primary reason for the current living arrangements.

"I'll be back by Monday afternoon, assuming that I still have a home to come back to," he told Liam, unable to resist a few jabs at Liam's survival skills. "Don't forget to feed the dog and take him for a walk outside. Women love dogs," Draco pointed out, aware of the imminent whinging he would receive upon such a request.

After a few last minute instructions, Draco Apparated himself into Hermione's living room where he was immediately assaulted with the smell of something quite... unpleasant.

"Hermione?" He called out uncertainly. Instinctively he followed his nose that led him to the kitchen where small billows of smoke were being puffed into the room via the oven. "Oh sweet goodness, Hermione," he muttered as he took the kitchen towel from the counter and tried to wave away the smoke. "You know you can't bake for shite..."

"Hey! I heard that!"

A flurry of red, denim and brunette zipped passed him and pulled open the oven door allowing even more smoke to enter the kitchen. Without thought Hermione reached in and grabbed the baking sheet inside consequently burning her hand and causing her to yell and let go off what were, possibly a quarter of an hour ago, biscuits.

Rolling his eyes in exasperation, Draco took out his wand that quickly expelled all signs of burning from the room. Well, except the wound that Hermione was now sporting due to the fact that she wasn't using her head, but Draco was there to rescue and just as efficiently as he cleared the kitchen, he healed Hermione's hand.

"See? I told you that you were mortal, but would you listen? Noooo," Draco joked good-naturedly as he pulled out a seat for her. "So, what's with all this sudden interest in domesticity? Plus, shouldn't we get going? And here I was thinking that I would disappointment Miss Punctuality."

Hermione gave him a rather unattractive glare which spoke volumes of frustration, hurt and unfinished packing. "If you must know I was trying this... three-step biscuit recipe that my mother told me about. It sounded," she looked almost ashamed as she said this, "easy. And in answer to your other questions, I'm in no real hurry to get there so..."

"It's a three hour long drive, Hermione. Do you know how long three hours is?"

Hermione had insisted that they drive all the way to their destination instead of more practical means. Although, it might be wise to show up in a car instead of popping up out of thin air. That might cause some suspicion. Besides, Draco rather enjoyed driving. It was quite pleasurable.

"Oh let me take a bleeding guess, yeah? Maybe, and I'm not exactly sure, but could it be as long as, say, _three hours_?"

Draco grinned and tweaked her nose affectionately. "You're pissing me off but I still love you, you brat. Now tell me what's really bothering you because it seems to me like you're stalling our departure for the land of about to get married cousins and stuck in the sixties uncles. Actually, now that I think about it, I'm now looking forward to it."

"I don't want to go. Can we not go, Draco, please?"

_The pout will not sway me. My will is ironclad. The pout will not sway me. My will is ironclad._

Oh... _fuck_.

"You're a bridesmaid," he told her in an effort to push some reason into the situation as it was in dire need of it. "You're a part of that blasted entourage and you'll miss out on old ladies dabbing the corners of their eyes for nonexistent tears and saying how lovely the bridesmaids look—"

"You obviously haven't seen the dress, Draco." Hermione's voice was somewhat pained as if the news was horridly agonising. "It's... it's... there are no words. I, Hermione Granger, have ran out of words to describe just how despicable this bridesmaid dress is."

Well, that _would_ be a bad sign. Nevertheless...

"How about we leave right after the reception? How about that?"

"Do you honestly want to drive home on Sunday night? It wouldn't make much of a difference if we drive back on Monday morning like we planned," she pointed out. "So that would rule out leaving early. Dammit all... this is so pathetic. Why can't I stand my family?" Hermione let out a huge, pitiful sigh and Draco was almost tempted to kidnap her and send her off to Rome just so she'd have an excuse not to go to the bleeding wedding. "I mean... they're all right in small, inconspicuous amounts. But the constant questions of when _I'm_ going to get married or how much I'm making or when will they ever finally get to meet my boyfriend that they've all convinced themselves that I've somehow acquired is starting to wear me down. That thin sheen of patience? Long gone. It is but a memory. Much so like my sanity."

Draco kneeled down in front of her and cupped her chin in his hand. She had such soft skin... "I know that I'm not much of an expert on family. Then again, the fact that I'm related to convicted criminals makes your family look like a dream come true. But the thing is, is that," he smiled softly and shrugged his shoulders a little, hoping it would lighten the situation, "they're your family. They're... you. You'll probably kill me for saying this, but I see a little of you in your family. Like your mother's passion for schedules and your father's cheerfulness. I think you've gotten a bit of Uncle Frank's humour in there somewhere—"

"Oh, God... Uncle Frank?" Hermione groaned, but Draco could tell that she was beginning to come around.

"Yes, Uncle Frank. And your Aunt Deb can't bake for shite either!"

Hermione stared at him for a moment before reaching down and pulling him into a fierce hug.

"Give me half an hour," she whispered softly against his ear. "I haven't started packing yet."

* * *

I'd love a bowl of ice-cream right about now. Smothered in chocolate syrup and nuts. Hold the cherries, though. Those bottled cherries are like mush in my mouth. I don't see why you have to turn perfectly good cherries into something like... _that_.

I happen to like it the way it is.

* * *

**Author's Notes:**

waves timidly

Hi! I'm back! I know I've been horrible for having gone so long without a single update. But RL (namely, uni) caught up with me and zapped me of all creativity and time. However, vacation is near and I'll be able to update more regularly. Hopefully. Possibly more along the lines of... bimonthly or monthly, which is much better than annually, I think.

**This Chapter:** Oh, look! No mention of alcohol!

The initial version of this chapter had quite a bit of Narcissa and Hermione bonding. But I've decided that that could wait. It was funny, though. Apparently, the Narcissa in my mind likes to embarrass her only son when in front of girls that he obviously, oh, I don't know... loves? Heh.

Draco. Oh, Draco, Draco, Draco... You handsome, clueless bastard. Even Liam knows what's going on. Let's hope you have more fun in the next chapter.

Hermione. I know she's supposed to do something. I mean, I _want_ her to do something. I must have been feeling particularly sadistic when I outlined this plot. Anyhow, as you can see (or not) the romantic in Hermione Granger might (ironically) be the reason why she won't immediately find it.

**Next Chapter:** King-sized beds, flowers, garters and the grand Granger plot to rule them all.


	8. Chapter Seven: Boy And Girl

Disclaimer: All recognisable characters blah belong to JK Rowling blah

_

* * *

_

The best thing about leaving is coming back.

_

* * *

_

There are only so many times in life when one feels absolutely carefree. The wind floating between strands (or tangles) of hair, the sun shining on bright and smiling faces, not a care in the world... actually, maybe a few minor cares.

And this magical moment was being ruined by Hermione Granger who was just... sitting there. Draco secretly wondered if she was like this in nursery school. In his mind's eye he had a four-year-old Hermione—with her wild hair, wearing sober blue dungarees and pristine trainers—standing alone in the middle of a recreation ground, small and big groups of children scattered all around her.

Draco figured himself to be about the same. He would never really talk to anyone and instead would patiently wait for someone to talk to him. His parents always thought that it to be entirely too ironic. It was a repeated instruction to not to speak to any of their important guests unless he was spoken to, but that was a rule blatantly ignored as he would sit at the feet of these much older fellows and jabber on happily about being the next Dark Lord, or, at the very least, the richest man in the world. He had always felt more comfortable around people older than he and that always left him thinking if all children were like that.

He glanced at Hermione who was sitting in the passenger seat beside him, wrapping a strand of hair (that she was able to liberate from the seemingly floating mass atop her head) around her finger. No, not all children, he thought. Only the special ones.

"How much are those thoughts worth? That I may be able to buy them," he explained upon seeing her perplexed expression. "You've been irritatingly silent the entire time."

"Just thinking."

"About?"

"Things..."

"Heaven forbid that you ever think about _things_," he replied because he honestly couldn't think of anything better to say and that usually demanded that his answering with something horrible inane.

But she smiled then and Draco figured that perhaps sometimes being stupid was all right.

"Seriously though... is it serious?"

"I..." And it was this moment's hesitation that Draco had the answer to his question. "No, nothing serious." It was obvious that she was lying. Through her teeth! "Nothing serious at all!"

"You do know that your right eye twitches when you lie, don't you?" This, of course, was a lie unto itself as Malfoys were never big on things like logical reasoning and fair arguments. They were more of the... clean underwear types.

She laughed in return and Draco was annoyed to realise that he was being distracted from his mission by flashes of pearly white teeth.

"At least say something. I'm telling you now that hearing sounds that don't mean anything will get tiring at some point..." He made a left and a row of identical perfect upper-middle class Tudor houses appeared before them on both sides. "And I just may reciprocate—except with more sexually suggestive sounds."

Because sexually suggestive sounds were another thing that Malfoys were big on.

"You're disgusting, Malfoy."

"Nothing I haven't heard before," he answered off-handedly. "Now tell me what's bothering you or else." Draco was quite proud of the threatening tone that he had managed. Firm yet... gentle.

"You know how in Hogwarts everyone accused me of being a know-it-all and being bossy... and what else was it you all called me?"

The question was blatantly rhetorical.

Perfectionist, uptight, officious? He smiled. Really, he had no control over his mind sometimes.

Thankfully, Hermione didn't notice. No, she looked downright grim. Perhaps, this whole 'predicament' wasn't entirely groundless.

"This is the side of the family I got it from."

_Merlin, **no**_!

Sure, in the months that Draco had known Hermione's parents he found that she greatly took after her mother (something she would vehemently deny). It did not occur to him that perhaps Dianne Granger had taken after someone else as well... or that there was actually an entire clan of fusspots somewhere north of London.

It was in that bright and shining moment that Draco realise what exactly was bothering the Miss Hermione Granger.

She was worried that he wasn't going to like her family and he could see where she was coming from. He felt a small tinge of guilt knowing that he had yet to introduce Hermione to his mother when he had already met most of the family (and will soon complete the family tree in a few minutes). But they were too different.

Draco mentally shook his head.

All right, they weren't _that_ different.

"I'll love them," he promised and it was true. He was going to love them even if it killed him. "I'll bet my life that they're great."

Hermione let out a rather unladylike (and therefore _manly_) snort. She was very much the least feminine female that Draco knew and he wasn't the. "I wish I were half as confident as you."

"It takes the rare Malfoy gene to be this confident."

"I think perhaps confident is the wrong." Hermione tapped an index finger against her temple. "Arrogant is more like it."

"Ha. Ha. Ha. Christ, you're hilarious. I seriously can't stop laughing. Ha. Ha. Ha." He smiled, though, without malice which completely ruined the sarcasm.

"We should play a game."

"Not the 'let's see what we can make road kill out of' game."

He could see Hermione's raised eyebrow from the corner of his eye. "That was your idea," she pointed out. "I'm just an innocent passenger."

"More like the backseat driver from hell."

"I am _not_ a backseat driver—Turn right here!"

Draco very much enjoyed the moments wherein there was no need to prove his point. Coincidentally, that particular moment was one of them.

"I think that if I delved into the depths of _the_ abyss—also known as your armoire—I'd find all sorts of leather and whippy painful things, you dominatrix you."

He was practically giddy in wait of her reply.

"I'd find dusty skeletons of former girlfriends—or really just girls because relationships are entirely too difficult for you to handle—rotting away."

He didn't even have to make use of peripheral vision to know that she was smirking at him. It almost made Draco regret having smirked at her all those times in the past. Almost. Barely really.

"Skeletons don't rot. And you know what else doesn't rot?"

"What?" Draco sort of (mildly really) delighted in the hesitation he heard in Hermione's voice.

"Nonexistent boyfriends."

Hermione gasped. "Ooh... that's evil even for you." It was a little in awe that she said it, which made Draco think twice about feeling guilty.

"Aren't allergies weird?" Hermione asked all of a sudden as if the conversation had not been random enough and needed to be adjusted to suit her tastes.

"Weird? On what level of weirdness are we talking here?" Draco knew he shouldn't entertain these thoughts of hers but they never proved to be harmful to his wellbeing—well, not _that_ harmful.

"There are levels?"

He shrugged. "Yeah, I figure there are—Do I take a left here?"

"The next corner," she replied automatically.

"So I figure there are about five levels. The first is the lowest, which is pretty much, 'oh, that's pretty weird' weird. You know, ho-hum like and such," Draco explained like an Arithmancy problem with Hermione listening in equal seriousness. "Then there's level five weird and that's 'oh bloody what the hell' weird... just mind-boggling weird."

"Perhaps I shouldn't have said weird then." Hermione decided after a moment's thought. "Aren't allergies interesting?"

"Interesting? On what level of—"

"Shut up and turn left."

"So demanding," Draco complained but only after he followed her directions.

"You say that even though you enjoy the luxury of being able to pick the instructions you wish to follow." She sounded decidedly put out. But Draco was in the habit of hearing Hermione be put out by a lot of things: a film, an album, a book. It wasn't that she was overcritical really. It was more of... she was too... well, all right, critical.

There are worse things, he reasoned. Although a part of him secretly disagreed.

"So allergies?" Draco prompted even if he wasn't all that interested in what she had to say and that felt weird. On a level three kind of weird—'almost enough to make you worry but just enough to make you wonder' weird.

"Are you allergic to anything?" Hermione asked because her conversation introduction obviously needed audience participation.

"Squid," he answered and he was annoyed that she even bothered asking something she already knew. He rubbed his left palm against the denim of his thigh to wipe away the sweat that had suddenly appeared.

"Right, but... what if—" Her hand floated in the air carelessly. "You've never had squid? If you've never eaten squid then you wouldn't be allergic to anything."

It was the stupidest thing he had ever heard. He smiled. It was painful but he deemed it necessary. He followed it up with a chuckle and even slammed his right palm against the steering wheel. It glistened beautifully with even more sweat which just succeeded in making it disgusting.

"What's wrong?"

He shook his head. "Are we near?"

"Yeah, looks it," she replied, giving the directions haphazardly written on an array of mint green Post-Its (that were currently pasted together which made it approximately four metres long) the once-over.

"All right..." He shifted a little in his seat. "You were saying?"

"That was it actually."

"Oh."

"Yeah..."

"I get what you mean, though," he stammered in a valiant attempt to repair the broken conversation. "About allergies and..."

"And?"

"And not knowing you have allergies?"

"And?" It was at the repetition of a former reply that made Draco realise that he was being teased.

"And... isn't it that way with everything? Like fear? You can only claim to fear something once you've faced a situation that forced you to recognise it. And even knowledge!" He was amazed how much feigned interest he could muster. "You don't know that you know something until you know or don't know about it..."

"That last part was sort of... blurry. But I like the fear part."

"I know, but, well, I get you."

"I know," she replied. "Another left here and then it's the fourth house on the left."

Draco _really_ did know. He did because he was currently scared to tiny petrified pieces. He didn't occur to him that he would become agitated with the prospect of meeting the rest of Hermione's extend family. He had, after all, met her parents and that had been a pleasant enough encounter that led to a number more encounters (one of which was not to be spoken of by mutual agreement).

But there he was. Draco Malfoy. Scared of Muggles. Scared of Muggles because... he wanted them to like him.

Oh, Merlin. What Would Merlin Do?

She laughed. "Allergies are fears."

He laughed, too. Merlin would have probably laughed it off.

'Allergies are fears' _was_ sort of funny. And it did make some sense...

"Allergies are kind of like love, too..." he mused.

"Yeah..."

"Yeah..."

He pulled up alongside the kerb.

_

* * *

_

Would you rather go back in time or see into the future?

Would you rather be with someone beautiful and stupid or ugly and witty?

Would you rather read a book or watch a film?

Would you rather be wrong or right but proved wrong?

I'd really rather have vanilla than chocolate.

_

* * *

_

"So you didn't think—"

"That it would be _this _hideous?" Hermione finished with obvious exasperation in her voice. Her hand seemed to drip with green as the reality of it was that Hermione was gripping apple green chiffon. "I knew it was hideous. I mean, I saw the pictures and everything... However, now that I'm seeing it in person, now that I'm actually holding the scratchy fibers against my skin—I feel so sad. This is... depressing, Draco. I've never known a piece of clothing to be depressing but this takes the misery cake."

In point of fact, it almost scared Draco to death when he first saw it. Fairly thought it was on the brink of turning more alive than it appeared and just devour the entire family, he did.

Draco figured he should keep his guard up just in case.

"It has ruffles," Hermione moaned. She sat down on the only available armchair in the bedroom they were ensconced in. Her fingers traced the green satin that held the ruffles together and the disdain was evident in the way her hand trembled. "And it isn't even the small, cutesy, non-flamboyant ruffles. They're big and garish and they sting the eyes."

Rather tired with the topic of ruffles, Draco reached out and took the offensive garment from her hands and placed it on the bed. "It's not that bad..."

It _was_ that bad.

"It has redeeming qualities..." Draco continued, though he had yet to distinguish what they were exactly.

"Like what?"

Like what, Draco?

"It isn't _all _green." Which was true.

Hermione stared at him, both eyebrows raised in question. "I'm aware that there is one other colour. However, I wasn't aware that it would be a redeeming feature."

"Would you rather it be all green?" Now that was actually a difficult question and he couldn't blame Hermione for taking a moment to look at the dress to decide.

"Well, given that," she began slowly, though her eyes were still trained on the piece of clothing laid out on the bed, "the only other colour is fuchsia..."

Oh. So the hideous colour had a name.

"Well, if anyone can make apple green and fuchsia satin and chiffon look good..." He sounded like a poofter. "It would be you?"

There were stars in her eyes. "Really?"

Draco seriously doubted it but he nodded anyway. "Of course. You're my girl and my girl could never look bad." Of course, once upon a time, he had told Pansy those exact same words and... he had been ever so wrong...

After a few more moments of assurance that Hermione would look absolutely stunning (pouf!), they made their way downstairs to join the rest of the family for a late lunch. The earlier introductions were littered with pregnant pauses that gave birth to even more bursts of silences that made the already awkward situation even more awkward. It quite reminded Draco of the first time he tried French kissing on a girl. That memory brought more embarrassment than nostalgia.

Hermione had, of course, tried to fill the untimely demises (plural!) of the conversation with _something_. Unfortunately her definition of something made up weird noises. Draco wasn't very much surprised...

"Oh, it's Hermione and her boyfriend!"

And that was what made the entire conversation awkward. Apparently this where the stubborn gene came from as it was irritating to have to explain repeatedly that though they are quite close and though they are of opposing genders (and once it was established that yes, both he and Hermione were straight) and though they were both undeniably good-looking and available (Draco thought himself more so than Hermione) it made perfect sense for them to be together.

However, contrary to what Hermione had been implying, her mother's side of the family wasn't the hell-spawned people that he had been led to believe. In fact, they were a pleasant lot and would be more pleasant had it not been for the sterling fact that these people loved to argue. They most certainly loved to win said arguments. What was most amusing was that Hermione seemed to be the perpetual loser of these arguments... which was perhaps the reason why she had detested him meeting them in the first place. She probably thought that she'd look less intelligent as compared to the rest of the family—something that Draco didn't deem important. Besides, she had much better taste than her cousin Gertrude (with her none too subtle inclinations for the nasty!) which, in his humble opinion, _did_ matter.

Hermione immediately stepped away from Draco, her hand leaving the crook of his arm. "He isn't my boyfriend, Aunt Helene," she explained through what were presumably gritted teeth. "Draco is one of my closest friends..."

The woman, who looked to be in her mid-forties, couldn't be mistaken as anyone other than Hermione's relative. Apparently, the hair problem was a family thing... She had Hermione's easy smile, though, and there was an elegance about her that Draco instantly appreciated.

"He's your date to the wedding, isn't he?" Aunt Helene prodded as if 'He' wasn't even there.

Thus, 'He' decided to pass the time staring at white vase with much mustered enthusiasm.

"And friends don't date, do they?"

That did it. Draco's attention was riveted on Hermione's face as it showcased so many nameless expressions. He was insanely curious as to what she had to say. It was only a plus that he was witnessing what was an uncommon occurrence—the utter defeat of Hermione Granger.

"How is Uncle Gregory?" Hermione asked instead, choosing to completely ignore the question volleyed to her earlier. "I don't think I saw him earlier when we arrived."

Hermione's aunt smiled and turned to Draco, taking his hand in hers and shaking it. "I'm afraid we weren't as properly introduced as I would have preferred. I'm Hermione's Aunt Helene, and you are Draco, am I right?"

Draco could only nod in reply.

"What an unusual name Draco is. Does it mean anything?" And without warning, Aunt Helene placed her hand on his recently vacated arm and began to lead him toward the double doors to their right.

He eased one door open for the older woman as his mother had convinced him a long time ago that he was indeed a gentlemen and as such, must always open doors. As soon as they stepped in, the cheerful conversation that had been evidently taking place prior to their entrance came to an abrupt stop. Draco was instantly worried that perhaps the rest of the family was not as accepting of him as Aunt Helene.

It was the chorused, "Oh, it's Hermione and her boyfriend!" that made him think otherwise.

"Do sit here, young man!" an elderly man whose left hand rested on a simple cane (as all canes seemed to be relatively simple when compared to the memory of his own father's cane) and right knee was occupied with a small girl of about four with a bright smile smeared with honey.

Draco could hardly believe that this was the family that Hermione was telling horror stories about. He walked over to the head of the table and sat down on an empty chair.

"Now what are your intentions?"

Intentions?

"Your hair is the same colour as corn!" The little girl squealed with laughter at her observation and handed him a sticky bun.

He took it graciously, thinking that it would be better to have sticky hands than to have to answer sticky questions.

Apparently, Hermione thought the same and decided to veer away from the not too established topic.

"Aunt Grace?" she said timidly from her place between her father and Aunt Helene. "I was wondering where I was going to sleep tonight."

Draco loved secrets. In Hogwarts he practically thrived on them, knowing when there was a particularly juicy one up and about just by smelling the air. And despite the air being filled with the scent of turkey sandwiches, salad dressing and tea, Draco knew that there was a secret in the room.

"Oh, didn't Francis already show you to your room?" was the innocent answer.

Hermione frowned in thought. "He did but I thought Draco..." And then the truth of the situation finally dawned on her as she replied, "I suppose I can always sleep on the sofa in the living room."

"I'm sleeping there!" someone volunteered after Draco noticed some jabbing action coming from that direction. "I, erm... love that sofa."

"So who sleeps in your bed when you sleep on the sofa, Francis?"

"Um... hmm..."

"Gregory and I have been sleeping in Francis's room as your parents and your grandparents have taken up the other guest rooms. The inn is booked to the brim for Iain's family and the wedding guests from out of town." Aunt Helene raised a fragile teacup to her lips and took a small sip. "We really haven't any other choice in the matter. If we did, I wouldn't be sleeping in a room whose walls are plastered with Manchester United posters."

Draco was about to open his mouth and say something (although what that something was, he wasn't quite sure, but he was sure that he was beginning to feel pathetic just watching the earth open up and eat him) when Dianne Granger decided to open hers.

"Hermione can sleep with us if she wishes to. Or Christopher and Draco can take a room and so that Hermione and I can stay together..."

Blinking a few times didn't help change the reality that Hermione actually took a moment to consider this. Draco was beginning to think that it wasn't just for propriety's sake that she was going through all the trouble of finding separate accommodations. Perhaps she just didn't want to stay with him and for the life of him, Draco couldn't imagine why.

He caught the stern look Mr. Granger gave the Culprit of Ill Suggestions and felt oddly relieved.

"Don't treat Hermione like a child, Dianne. She's an adult; she can handle herself." He turned to his daughter as he said this and grinned. "Right, Hermione?"

Hermione smiled weakly and nodded. "Right, dad."

The obvious anxiety that Hermione felt disturbed Draco and he wanted to ask her immediately about it. However the whirlwind of activity that followed immediately after (such a male bonding, otherwise known as getting his arse kicked in football) led to him being able to talk to her only after the late supper they had following the wedding rehearsals that Gertrude insist that they have.

Draco was brushing his teeth as he watched Hermione move around the bedroom from the bathroom mirror. She seemed to be contemplating the bed which made him roll his eyes. He wouldn't be surprised if she suggested they transfigure the king-size into two smaller beds, but if that was what she wanted...

She ought to bloody explain herself!

Bugger it. He was going to ask. "There something you wish to tell me?"

She turns around, hands on her heart. Her eyes are on his reflection in the mirror. "What?" she asks softly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean with the whole, 'Oh my God! Draco and I can't share a room! I'll die!' deal..." Draco winced at the slight hurt he heard in his voice.

"Don't be unfair, Draco. I didn't say that."

_No you didn't_, he thought. _But you didn't have to..._

"You know what? Just forget it." Because people were better at forgetting than they were at explaining what they felt.

"No, let's not, Draco. Because we both know that neither one of is capable of just _forgetting_. We don't _do_ forgetting."

"What the—What's going on?" His toothbrush was hanging out of his mouth.

"I'm sorry... I just... It was never anything against you. I don't even know why I was so persistent with it. I suppose I was just desperate to change the topic because, well, you know... And it sort of became a lot bigger than it was supposed to and things got out of hand and..."

Hermione sat herself at the edge of the bed and sighed. She looked like a small child waiting to be tucked in and Draco felt a small tug at his heart.

_She **is** just a little child looking for someone to tuck her in..._

And so was he.

He gargled quickly, wiped the drops of water from his chin and stepped into the bedroom.

"C'mere."

There was defiance in her eyes when she replied. "What now?"

Draco didn't wait for her to come to him; he was too intelligent to wait around for something that wouldn't happen. He sat down beside her and draped an arm about her shoulders. He smiled when Hermione laid her head on his shoulder.

"Your mum ever read to you before going to bed?"

She shook her head. "That was my dad. He was in charge of storytelling in the evenings," she explained, her voice still soft and Draco found out that soft had different textures. "Mum was the captain of the mornings... drawing back the curtains and all..."

"Want a story?"

"A story? Think you can manage a story?"

He stuck his tongue out at her. "It's easy enough!" he boasted and he couldn't help but push his nose against her hair that smelled of watermelon. "They all start off the same and they all end the same."

"I suppose... it's the middle part that gets messed up. I hate how everything is so obvious in to everyone but the main characters... can anyone be so oblivious?"

"Yeah... they can."

But Draco wasn't oblivious. At least, not anymore.

His heart soared.

_

* * *

_

Once upon a time...

There was a boy and a girl.

And they lived happily ever after...

I hope.

_

* * *

_

**Author's Notes:**

Indeed, I took about as long as I could with this chapter, but it's finally here. So yay! It was difficult writing this chapter because I noticed how drastic (or perhaps not really as drastic as I am inclined to think) my writing has changed. So after rewriting this chapter over and over again, I began writing this version while simultaneously rereading the first chapter of this fic. Back to basics, so to speak, as I missed the simplicity with which I used to write. But change is inevitable (eeew—cliché!) and it was bound to happen as evidenced by my style which I have deemed irreparable so I'll just have to deal. Although on some level I suppose I'm content with it.

I've estimated about three or possibly four more chapters to go excluding an epilogue... my, my...

**This chapter:** I think I missed writing a lot of things that manifested itself in this chapter. One would be the profound lack of alcohol (ahem) and another would be the having Draco and Hermione talk about absolutely nothing. _Nothing_. They're talking about _allergies_ and levels of weirdness... as I, myself, am of a level five weird.

Now before demanding that Hermione's mother be burned at the stake and die, wait until the end before you cast your judgments! Because she has ISSUES.

Hermione also has ISSUES. But you already knew that.

Draco. Draco knooooooows. Draco was always the wiser one! So pretty!

**Next chapter: **I lied. The garters and flowers are in the next chapter. The garter part will be delicious. Promise. ;) In fact, the entire next chapter may prove to be delicious. If you get what I mean!

Please review? I know that I haven't been a very good writer with the lack of updates but please try? Thanks!


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